Winchester Within: The Edge Of Darkness
by triangular peg ticks all boxes
Summary: An attack during what was supposed to be their downtime threatens the Winchester family dynamics and the humanity of one of them. Will they be able to hold the darkness at bay? (Female OC Emily is still here! There's some language and some gore! You've been warned!)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and every character associated with it belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke. **

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><p><em>Gray had to admit the tiny town of Eros was not as dead he'd originally thought. While it was no Las Vegas, there was still some fun to be had if he dramatically lowered his expectations. A couple of women, neglected by their husbands and attracted to his bad boy vibe, practically threw themselves at him whenever they saw him, drinks at the two bars in the town were cheap, and the alcohol fuelled fights that inevitably arose quelled his demonic rage enough to keep him from tearing anyone's head off and drawing attention to his meat puppet and attracting his employer's ire. It was an unexciting existence, but boring was worlds better than hell any day. At least here, no one was flaying him with a flame chain whip or ripping his lungs out. Still, he wished his only lead in finding the Emily girl wasn't waiting on an old biddy's phone to ring.<em>

_When the phone in question rang and the caller turned out to be the elusive Emily Avis Raines, Gray couldn't have been more vindicated. That the call turned out to be more informative than he'd hoped, was the icing on the cake._

_He'd learnt from the call that Emily had brothers; Dean and Sam. Unfortunately, he'd not gotten their last name; he supposed it was not Avis or Raines. Not having that information was not ideal but at least he now knew more than he had before. He knew she had family helping her, and doing quite a good job of it, though he didn't know whether it was by design or dumb luck. He wondered how Emily had found them or maybe they had found her; either way their existence was annoying and probably dangerous for him._

_The reason she had called Cece was because the one called Dean had been electrocuted and had suffered a heart attack and doctors had predicted his life expectancy to be weeks. The girl and the other brother were desperate to save him. Cece had promised to call back after making enquiries. And make inquiries she had. Gray had been surprised; for a recluse who rarely received any phone calls, the woman sure had many contacts she could hit up._

_She had ultimately told Emily about a guy called Roy LeGrange who was some sort of miracle healer in Chambers, Nebraska. Gray didn't know how far away from the place Emily and her brothers were so he couldn't take the chance of driving and getting there too late. He'd have to get there in his smoke form and find a suitable meat puppet on arrival. However, there was the question of what to do with his current meat suit in the meantime. Nathan Wood was a fighter, and the minute he gained control of his body, he'd make a run for it, and Gray's boss wouldn't like that. So Gray grabbed heavy duty chains, and power walked himself and his meat puppet to a partially collapsed old well he'd accidentally stumbled upon on the edge of the town. He carefully picked his way as far inside as he could. He chained himself up, levitated the keys out of reach, then had Nathan Wood knock himself out by hitting his head extremely hard against the wall. The hit drew blood and for a moment Gray worried the man might bleed out and die if he left him. But the blood flow stopped quickly. Gray was sure he'd be back soon enough so he was not worried about Nathan starving or dying of thirst._

_When he was sure he'd thought of everything, Gray left Nathan Wood's body in a gleeful burst of black smoke. He was basically powerless in this form, but he liked it. In this form he couldn't be killed, well, he could, but only by a very powerful demon and there weren't many of those topside. He mostly liked this form because he was free, limitless and could will himself almost anywhere. Unfortunately, as it turned out, he couldn't will himself into Roy LeGrange's church. Gray had learnt early on that churches where the faithful actually had faith were impossible to breach, and evidently, the people who attended Roy's church were true believers. So Gray hovered on the outskirts of the town. He ended up possessing Kevin Hawkins, a tiny rotund man with a large polished forehead, a beaming smile that hid a deep unacknowledged sadness, and half moon glasses that reminded Gray of a librarian from the Dickensian era. No one could look at Kevin and imagine him a threat. Unfortunately, the man also had a car older than the trojan horse. It even needed pushing at one point. Gray had never been more upset about a piece of machinery as he was about that car._

_Even possessing someone, Gray couldn't get in through the church door or more accurately the church flap. So he sat in his newly acquired excuse of a car and watched the arrivals and the determined lone protestor who everyone was ignoring. He was beginning to reconsider his decision to come here when the low rumble of a car caught his ear and made him look up. A black muscle car came up the muddy trail and parked a ways off from his junker. It was an impressive machine, and he hadn't seen a vehicle like it in this awful place so he was curious to see who stepped out. The left door opened quickly and a tall young man got out and raced round to the right side whose door opened slowly to reveal another young man. This one too was tall, though not as tall as the first, and he looked a little under the weather. He rudely shrugged away the other's help and the two shuffled off. Then movement in the back of the black car caught Gray's eye. The door opened and a girl with a look between annoyance and disgust emerged from the car._

_Even though he had come here hoping to find her, he couldn't believe it when he saw the girl. His quarry. She looked a little different in person. In the picture he'd stolen, her hair was dead straight and had purple streaks, and as the picture was a close up of five kids, he hadn't been able to gauge how tall she was. Well, she was tall, almost 5'9 if he had to hazard a guess, her hair was hanging in a braid behind her back, but from the wayward strands that had escaped, he could tell it was curly and not straight, and the purple streaks were gone. Also, her face had lost the baby fat that had still been evident in the photo. She was a beautiful girl. Gray felt an unsettling twinge of an emotion he couldn't describe. He knew it wasn't lust. That was an emotion all demons were intimate with and never unsettled by; this one, whatever it was, was new to him._

_He knew he couldn't grab her, there were too many faithful and hence powerful and dangerous witnesses around, and his car was not exactly getaway car material. Besides, he wasn't supposed to kill the girl himself. He just had to get a reaver to do that. He knew he had to bide his time, choose a better moment than this. Maybe when the three were alone. He wasn't worried about the men, who he was sure were the brothers she'd mentioned to her grandmother. They looked like they could handle themselves, yes, even the sick one, but Gray was a demon, and even though he was a lower tier demon, and was currently possessing the least imposing meat puppet that had ever lived, he was still more powerful than any human. He dropped his hand from the car door handle, and sat back to wait._

_About forty minutes later, the three siblings burst out of the tent with the previously ill one looking impossibly robust and inexplicably irate. Before Gray could turn the key of his car, the black muscle car had roared away. Gray had no choice but to leave his meat-suit and follow the vehicle in his bodiless form. He was disconcerted when he couldn't breach the car, meaning it was somehow demon-proofed. That was when he started to see his quarry as possibly dangerous._

_He was surprised when they drove to a hospital. He hurriedly possessed an aide in a bid to get information. He'd only just managed to get his meat puppet in position to eavesdrop when the siblings stormed out. Gray was annoyed when he had to abandon yet another meat suit in order to follow them in his smoke form. They drove to the swimming club and at the entrance, the taller man and Emily got out of the car which peeled off without them. Gray hoped he could get to the girl in this location._

_He didn't. When he heard that time had stopped when the jogger died, he knew there was a reaper in the town. He booked it out of the meat puppet he was possessing and out of the club. Hell no! No way was he, a lower level demon, facing a reaper because of this Emily girl. While reapers were technically just soul escorts, their touch was capable of killing just about anything. Gray wasn't so sure whether they could kill a demon, but he was not going to volunteer as a test subject. He'd find another way to get Emily. She had promised she'd visit her grandmother. He'd get her then._

_He willed himself back to the well in Eros, to find Nathan Wood awake and diligently hitting the chain at his feet with a rock trying to break it. Gray was impressed. The man really was resourceful and determined. He also tried to resist the repossession, but was unsuccessful. Gray smiled with Nathan's lips. Yes, he liked this meat puppet so much better._


	2. Chapter 1

The friendly bickering had started almost as soon as they hit the road. Dean probably in a bid to keep himself and his siblings awake had crowed, "Damn, that was intense. If it hadn't been for me holding onto that stupid rope, the two of you would have been corned beef!"

Even though they agreed with him, Emily had immediately scoffed and Sam had added, "Please, if Mr. Bad Attitude hadn't held on with you, that thing was going to carry you off and make you its bitch! Besides, lassoing is so much harder than shooting."

"Well, neither one of you had to deal with the guy with less courage than Scooby Doo!" Emily snorted.

"At least you got an appreciative hug out of it!" Dean teased.

"Oh, did you want one too?" she retorted.

And so it went.

The three Winchesters were looking for a motel to crash after their latest hunt.

Three days earlier, they'd been about two hours or so from Bobby's when he'd called and asked them to check out Glendo State Park in Wyoming where folk were being picked off by some kind of giant freak bird. Bobby himself was running an errand in Wisconsin, which he was ready to drop if they said no. However, despite the two back to back soul-sucking hunts the three siblings had just been on, their consciences couldn't allow them to say no, and truth be told, they'd been excited by this new hunt. After ending the call with Bobby, they'd began theorising, and had spent much of the eight hour drive to the park speculating what the creature could be. There had been talk of dragons, ahools, gryffins, aliens and ulamas. The subject had only shifted when Emily had expressed excitement at going camping. Her brothers had looked at her like she'd sprouted horns. They'd told her in unequivocal terms how much they hated camping. All her talk about Aboriginal activity and cultural artifacts from the Arapaho, Cheyenne, Oglala and Brule Sioux tribes, had failed to move either brother. Even Sam hadn't been impressed. Their apathy hadn't quelled Emily's excitement.

When they got to the park, the Burnt Wagon, Broken Arrow and Muddy Bay wood camp grounds were closed. The official reason given was wildfires but having seen no fire, or smoke, the Winchesters knew the wildfire report was just a way to keep the public away as those in charge tried to figure out what to do. They'd sent in an ornithologist and five park rangers. Surprisingly, only the scientist, the only female and unarmed member of the team had returned. She had been committed almost immediately as she'd told anyone who would listen about a devil bird that had eaten the rangers, saying she'd survived because she'd stayed in the car. Sam and Dean, remembering the Wendigo hunt and Roy, had expressed a hope that no more rangers would get sent to the park. The last thing they needed was a bunch of sceptic, cocksure, gun wielding, trigger happy rangers making the hunt harder.

When Sam parked the car, Emily bounded out the back like a puppy that had been set free after being cooped up for days. "It's so beautiful!" she breathed turning around in a circle, her eyes wide in awe.

Sam and Dean, had smiled at her exuberance. "Could you be a bigger tree-hugger!" Dean laughed, then he clapped eagerly, "Okay, let's get this thing!"

Having no camping gear, they scouted during the day. At night, in the safety of the impala, they researched and attempted to sleep while trying to ignore the loud thunks on the roof of the car as the creature they were hunting tried to get in through the roof. They all pretended their hearts didn't beat wildly every time that happened; Dean mostly because he hated what was happening to his 'baby' while Sam and Emily worried that the creature would finally figure out how easily the car's windows would shatter under the assault of its claws. Fortunately, it didn't seem quite developed in the intelligence department which was one of the reasons, two nights and a day later, all three Winchesters agreed that they were hunting a wyvern. They'd then spent an extra day strategising how exactly to take down the creature. The plan they settled on was crazy, and not for the first time, the boys were glad they were now a trio, because it would have been hard, though not impossible, for just the two of them to carry it out. They'd decided to put it in action later that night but unfortunately, that afternoon, Emily raced back to her brothers from her look out point and reported an approaching car.

Dean signaled her up the nearest tree.

"I should never have told you guys about that jungle gym story!" she grumbled as she disappeared up the trunk and over branches. Sam and Dean chuckled at her grumbles as they waited for the vehicle to reach them. Dean leaned against the impala, his casual relaxed pose completely deceptive while Sam pretending to read a book, sat in the back seat leaving the door open and his legs outside, feet planted firmly on the ground.

Even before the car came to rest, the backdoor had opened and slammed shut and a huge irate man was stalking towards Sam and Dean yelling, "What are you kids doing here? You can't be here!"

Dean straightened and Sam tossed the book, slammed the door shut and stood up beside his brother. "We're sorry we didn't pay for a camping permit, we'll pay the fine, just don't arrest us, please!" he banked on his puppy eyes and the fact that the man had called them kids. The latter probably being the reason Dean had bristled in anger.

"Trespassing is the least of your worries sonny! Now get out of here and we won't penalise you!" the second man spoke coolly almost sardonically as he walked up to them. He was not as big as the first man but still impressively built.

The men looked like they were in their early to mid forties, very fit forties. Both men were close shaven, armed, confident looking and pissed as hell. It was obvious they had not counted on finding a couple of dumb kids in these parts. There was a third man, the driver. He was much younger than the two, who Dean had already identified as ex-Military, probably Marines or Seals. He had stayed in the car and he looked terrified. Smart man.

The second man's tone didn't sit well with Sam who had always had a problem responding to authoritarian people. "If you make us leave, we'll tell everyone there's no fire, and we'll see how you like it when more people start coming up here!" he smirked deciding to test the waters by being obnoxious.

The man grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him down level with his face, "Listen to me punk, you and leather jacket Ken over there have no idea what is going on!"

Completely unintimidated, he was a Winchester after all, Sam blinked owlishly as he marvelled at the fact that the man was only about Emily's height. His attitude had made him seem taller. The other man however, undoubtedly topped Sam's height by an inch, even two. Both men were built like linebackers.

"Let go of him!" Dean growled dangerously.

"Let him go Vince!" the first man spoke with a tired sigh. "He's just a kid." The man, Vince, shoved Sam slightly as he let go and Sam's back hit the impala and he scowled.

Dean stepped up to Vince. "You touch him again, I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!"

Vince laughed, "That's so cute! What movie was that from?"

Sam had to hold a restraining hand to Dean's elbow to keep him from launching at the man.

The first man spoke, trying to explain and diffuse the situation. "You two need to leave. It's not safe for you to be here."

"Trust me, we know how to handle ourselves and we actually know what is going on. Can't say the same for you!" Dean spat, looking at Vince with hate.

"You have no idea …" the man began.

Dean had had enough. "Look, we know there's a creature here. We know it snacked on a couple of campers, and that got this place locked down. They sent in five rangers at the end of their luck and some bird scientist, and the rangers got eaten too. The bird scientist survived because she had a brain in her head. So, it's you guys who have no idea what is going on. We know what this thing is, and how to kill it. You let us do our job and we'll be out of here first thing tomorrow morning! You can even take credit for the kill if you want!" he snapped.

Vince was angry. How dare this leather jacket wearing cowboy wannabe imply that he could accomplish what he a Marine couldn't. And to say they could take the credit. He didn't know which was the bigger insult. He made a step towards Dean. His colleague held him back with a hand to his chest and spoke to Dean. "You know what? You're not our mission. Just make sure you stay out of our way!"

"Yeah well, stay out of ours too." Dean retorted. "Come on Rae!"

Dean and Sam enjoyed the looks on the men's faces when Emily climbed down the tree. That they'd not been alerted to the presence of another person, was very disconcerting for them and for that person to be another kid, a girl for that matter, was a blow to their egos. Emily rubbed it in by grinning toothily at them.

Despite being put off by her disrespectful display, the first man was chivalrous enough to be concerned about Emily. "Sweetheart, you might want to come with us," he offered.

"No, but thanks. I'll take my chances over here!" she said sweetly as she joined her brothers.

"Suit yourself!" Vince all but growled as the two walked back to their car.

"Great! This is just fucking fantastic! Now we have to add keeping those idiots safe to our plan!" Dean grumbled. "We can't just add three unknown variables to the plan. We don't know exactly how any of those guys will react when that thing shows up." He scrubbed a hand over his head. "We can't completely change our strategy, it's almost 6 p.m!"

"How about we forget the positions we'd decided to take up, we each mark one guy, but keep the last part of the plan intact?" Sam suggested.

Dean frowned as he considered the idea. "Fine, we each mark a guy, but only within the agreed radius. If your man goes beyond the perimeter, I don't care, he's no longer your problem. Understood?" he glared at his siblings to impress how serious he was.

Both Sam and Emily scowled, but agreed with him. Their plan hinged on them shooting the wyvern within seconds of each other, so if one of them run off, the plan would obviously unravel. They started their preparations.

Emily occasionally glanced at the other team, noting their movements and reporting what was going on. The guy behind the wheel was obviously a civilian. He clearly didn't want to be here, he did not leave the vehicle, barely even cracked his window open, and was nervous about all the carryings on. The other two didn't talk to him, barely even acknowledged him. The huge sandy haired one was definitely the leader, but it was evident the men were friends. "Whoa! I can't tell from over here what models those are, but those weapons look scary impressive … mmm, some kind of assault rifles with night vision optic scopes!"

"Can't wait to see their faces when they catch sight of the wyvern through those scopes!" Dean said with maniacal glee. Sam smiled. He could easily imagine how seeing such a creature with such an instrument for the first time could be piss-your-pants terrifying. He and his siblings didn't need fancy scopes, the light of the gibbous moon was more than enough, and even if it hadn't been, they'd have used their flashlights.

"They're painting their faces!" Emily reported with a snicker.

"Well, maybe the wyvern will make out with them instead of eating them!" Dean snorted pretending the paint Emily was talking about was makeup. The three of them fell about laughing.

With their weapons prepped Dean handed out the assignments. "I've got Vince, Sam you're with Thor, and Rae, you watch out for Courage who doesn't look like he'll be getting in the thick of things but stranger things have happened."

Sam and Emily laughed heartily at the names Dean had given the unknown members of the other team, then they each moved off.

Emily rapped on the window of the other car. The man jumped then smiled when he saw who it was. Taking the smile for an invitation, Emily opened the door and stepped into the car. "Hi, I'm Rae!"

"I'm Farrell, hi," he replied. Emily guessed he was closer to Sam's age than hers. They shook hands.

There was a short awkward silence, then Emily spoke. "So, you drew the short straw, uh?"

"Something like that," he said in a grumbly voice, glaring out of the window in the direction he'd seen his passengers disappear to. Then he turned to her, a look of urgency on his face, 'those two may be assholes, well, Vince is, but they know what they're doing. You should have listened to them and left!"

"Don't worry about us, my brothers and I can look after ourselves!"

"You and your brothers are just a bunch of bored kids who've stumbled into a horror movie!"

"A horror movie? So you believe the scientist's story?" Emily was surprised.

"Yes, I believe her. My mother isn't crazy, and when those two get that thing, I'm taking it back as proof!"

Of course there wouldn't be anything left to exhibit if she and her brothers achieved their goal, but Emily didn't tell him; when it came to family, many people were unpredictable. She didn't want him sabotaging their plan just so he could save his mother's reputation.

She got her phone and typed two words to her brothers. 'Scared believer.'

Dean sat against a tree next to Vince.

"A crossbow?" Vince laughed when Dean sat down next to him.

"Yes, and a shot gun with rock salt!" Dean growled.

Vince snickered condescendingly. "Wait, so you and your little band of misfits think you're hunting a vampire?"

"No. We're hunting a wyvern, and those two are my siblings!"

"Younger, right?" Vince asked ignoring the part of the sentence that made no sense to him.

"Yeah."

"Then I suggest you go babysit them, and leave me alone."

"They're fine, and you can just pretend I'm not here." Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"You know what? You and your siblings really are most cocky little bastards I've ever met!" Vince broke the silence suddenly. Dean smiled because despite the words, the man spoke with grudging admiration.

"And you're a cocky douche!" Dean replied.

"I try!"

"So you and Thor are ex-what exactly?" it had been bugging him since he'd seen the men.

"Thor?" Vince laughed.

"The other guy. Didn't catch his name." Dean shrugged.

"So you called him Thor?"

"He's huge and blond! And his hands look like hammers!"

Vince's laugh cracked the silence.

Dean texted two words to his siblings. 'Mellow sceptic.'

"Well, they seem to be getting along now!" the man who'd introduced himself to Sam as Pike commented mildly.

"Dean has a way with certain types of people." Sam smiled.

"I bet he does! Vince is kind of the same way too!"

"I noticed!"

Silence took over for a while. "So you, Dean and …"

"Rae." Sam supplied.

"Rae, right! What are you? Like thrill seekers or something?"

"Something."

Pike frowned at the cagey answer. "You know, I watched you guys prep. I saw how you all handled those guns. You're not a bunch of amateurs, that's for sure."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

Pike's lip lifted in a slight smile. "Bet you give Dean a run for his money in the mouthy department when you feel up to it! Yes, there's a question in there somewhere. I also noticed your ammunition was not exactly standard issue. What is that about?"

Sam debated about how much to tell the man, then decided to give it to him with both barrels. "Well, the thing we're hunting is called a wyvern. It's a supernatural monster. The shotgun Dean's got has rock salt, my gun has got silver bullets and Rae is packing consecrated iron rounds. The salt should weaken and immobilise the wyvern, so that the iron can incapacitate it, and the silver should kill it. If all that doesn't work, we'll decapitate it and then set the body on fire!"

There was a heavy shocked silence and Sam wondered what Pike was thinking.

"So you guys are like demon hunters or something?" Pike finally spoke.

Sam heard the incredulous laughter in the man's voice, but still answered. "Just hunters. We hunt all sorts of things, not just demons. It's kind of the family business."

"Well, good on you!" Pike spoke in a condescending voice. Then after about a minute of silence, he added with a shake of his head, "You three didn't strike me as crazy, but I guess crazy comes in different flavours!"

Sam glared and turned away from the man. He texted his siblings. 'Jerkass sceptic.'

All three mismatched pairs went silent and waited. Until ten p.m.

Because of their scopes, Pike and Vince were actually the first to see the wyvern. "What the hell is that thing?" they both shrieked, in high pitched voices that Dean would have a great time mimicking and laughing at later. The two men still had the presence of mind to shoot at the creature; Pike quickly realised his ammunition was useless and ceased the shooting. Vince on the other hand wouldn't stop and when the wyvern landed on the car with a loud thunk and skittering nails, he set his sights on it.

Dean growled at him, "In case you've not noticed, your bullets are completely useless, and there are two people in that car, one of whom is my baby sister, so if you shoot even one bullet at that car, so help me God, I'll feed you to that thing myself!"

Vince lowered his gun.

It was just as well he hadn't made the shot, because the sound of the landing wyvern had terrified Farrell brainless. No way was he staying in the car when whatever was out there was trying to get in. He believed he stood a better chance with the big guys with the big guns, not in a car with a girl with just a handgun. Without really thinking through the decision, he opened the door and ran out.

"Shit!" Emily wrenched her own door open and raced after him. She heard the teeth numbing clink as the wyvern's nails scratched the car's roof in lift off.

"Bloody idiot!" Dean swore as he stood and aimed his crossbow. He wasn't sure whether he was swearing at Emily or the blasted snivelling idiot she was chasing or even Vince. He let the arrow fly.

Emily dived at Farrell just as the wyvern swooped. Because it had been aiming for a standing target, that had suddenly dropped, the wyvern did not get proper purchase to lift Emily, but its talons clawed her back. She cried out as she fell.

"Rae!" Both her brothers roared.

The arrow from Dean's crossbow whistled through the air, and even though it was weighed down by the rope that was tied to its end, it found its mark, piercing through the wyvern's right wing. Dean scrambled to grab onto the hurtling rope, before it completely disappeared. Vince who had been watching, tossed his rifle to the side and grabbed onto the rope as well.

"This is completely insane!" he screamed to be heard over the creature's screeches. He couldn't believe he was tagging on an improvised harpoon at whose other end was a creature he'd never seen, wished he'd never seen and hoped he'd never see again.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was strained.

"I'm trying! The bloody thing just won't stay in place!" Sam was trying to lasso the wyvern's tail. As they'd been strategising during the day, they'd realised that if the creature pulled hard enough and for long enough, it could effectively tear the arrow out of its body and free itself. Then they'd have a pissed off, injured beast, and those were always the most dangerous. That was when Sam had suggested the lasso. It was proving to be an impossible task though, as the wyvern swung its tail in a frenzy. Sam decided to get in closer.

"Rae?" Dean called again, concern for his sister tainting his voice even as the tug-of-war he had going on with the wyvern was giving him a serious case of rope burn.

"I'm okay!" Emily intended it as a bellow, but it came out as a winded pant that she didn't think either brother heard. Well, they'd know she was fine when she started moving. "Follow me, and for fuck's sake, stay low!" she growled the command at Farrell who realised he had really underestimated her.

Since every trapped animal's natural instinct is to tag up and away, chances of the wyvern swooping down to attack her and Farrell were low, but Emily was not taking any chances. She crawled on her belly until she was out of harm's way. "Stay there!" she ordered Farrell as she rose into a crouch and slunk away quietly. He didn't need telling twice.

The wyvern's tail caught Sam in the chest and sent him sprawling a few metres away. "Fuck!" he swore involuntarily.

"You okay?" Dean's came out in a puff.

"Just peachy!" Sam grumbled as he slowly picked himself off the ground. This time he saw the tail coming and he ducked in time. Anticipating the next swing, he had the lasso on and it tightened as the wyvern inevitably swung its tail in a bid to free itself. "Got it!" he shouted in triumph. Unlike Dean, he didn't have to hold on because his rope had already been looped round a thick tree trunk.

Dean let go of his rope with a thankful sigh.

"I can't believe it fucking worked!" he panted as he, Emily, Pike and Vince run up to Sam. The three siblings grinned at each other.

"So that's a wyvern! I'll be damned." Pike walked up and looked at the creature that was still screeching horribly. He drew back quickly.

"You three are the craziest, cockiest BAMFs I've ever met!" Vince said in awe. Then he turned to Pike. "Good to see you made it out alive Thor!"

"Thor?" Pike questioned.

The rest all laughed, but no one explained.

"Okay, let's finish this so we can leave. I'm beat!" Dean said with a sigh raising the shotgun.

Sam and Emily drew their guns.

"What are you doing? We have to take it alive!" Farrell came tearing up to them.

"What, are you nuts?" Sam snorted wearily.

"I need it as evidence!" the man all but wailed.

Dean rolled his eyes. Academicians never ceased to amaze him. "You want to keep this thing as evidence? Just because we've got it trussed up, you think it's harmless? Do you realise that the only reason those ropes are holding that thing is because we soaked them with holy water?"

Farrell, Pike and Vince's mouths fell open.

"Screw evidence!" Dean turned back to his siblings, "Okay guys!"

The three Winchesters raised their guns and shot nearly simultaneously; the bullets hit the creature seconds apart, and in the intended order, rock salt, consecrated iron and finally silver.

The wyvern burst into flames, it's dying shrieks horrific.

"That's some freaky shit!" Vince swore as he moved back. Pike agreed with a nod of his head.

"That. Was. Awesoooome!" Dean slapped Emily on the back. Her yelp of pain and the sudden stickiness on his hand alerted him to the injury she had. He hadn't noticed the blood because it was dark and she was wearing her black sweatshirt. "Rae, you're hurt! Why didn't you say anything?" he frowned.

"We were all kinda busy and there was … is nothing you could do out here," Emily explained. Then, not wanting to be under the bus alone, she added, "Besides, Sam is hurt too!"

"Sam?" Dean turned to his brother and his eyes narrowed as he reached over to raise Sam's shirt.

Sam swatted away Dean's hand and pulled down his shirt. "Geez, at least buy me dinner first!"

Emily snickered and Vince and Pike who'd been kicking and scattering the wyvern's ashes chortled appreciatively.

"Fine, but if you two start growing scales, or horns, or some other freaky shit, I'm going to be pissed! And I will kick your asses!" Dean groused. The last two hunts had proved beyond reasonable doubt that his siblings could look after themselves, and even him. Those hunts had shifted the relationship between the three of them; it was no longer the 'one sided him as the protector and them as the protected' relationship that it had been before. He no longer considered Sam and even Emily as sidekicks or backups; they were now partners, but they would always be his younger siblings and he would always feel responsible for them.

Sam heard the concern in his brother's flippant words. "Hey, I'm not going to die from this, and horns would probably suit Rae more than you think!" he placated as he located the crossbow.

"Hey!" Emily protested as she retrieved the ropes. She stuck out her tongue at Sam who grinned. "Besides, we used all the holy water anyway," she pointed out to Dean.

"Well, you'd better not get blood in my car!" Dean growled as he opened the impala's trunk for his siblings to dump the equipment.

Pike, Vince and Farrell walked up to the car. "So what do we tell everyone?" Pike asked.

"I don't know, think of something. Mutated overgrown hawk, giant eagle with rabies? It's up to you!" Dean was now only concerned with getting his siblings out of here, back to civilisation and patched up.

"I love this kid!" Vince laughed in appreciation.

"I'm not a kid!" Dean bristled.

Sam smiled at how much Dean sounded like a kid in his indignation. He knew better than to point this out though; after all, Dean was his ride out of this place.

Emily spoke to Farrell. "Sorry we had to destroy it. Tell your mother, she's not crazy, that the creature was a wyvern, and it's dead. That should give her both validation and peace of mind. And erm … if you can convince her to stop talking about it, maybe she will be released," she shrugged with regret.

"You know what? I'm glad you killed it. You guys saved our lives. Thanks." Farrell decided bitterness was a waste of his time. He'd find a way to get his mom out of the loony bin.

They shook hands and said their goodbyes. Sam and Dean immediately got into it, about who should drive. As they argued, Farrell used the moment to hug Emily, "I'd ask for your number, but after seeing your brothers' mad gun skills, I wouldn't dare." He released her.

"It wouldn't work anyway, I'm a nomad!" Emily grinned, then she leaned in, gave him a peck on his cheek, and hopped into the car making sure her shoulder didn't hit the seats.

Sam won the argument with, "Don't think I don't know about that rope burn on your hands!" Dean sighed and handed over the keys. The brothers piled in on either side of Emily.

They drove in silence until they hit the proper road. Then the bickering and teasing had started.

Forty minutes later, they stopped at the fifth motel they saw. An hour after they'd checked in, they were showered, patched up and ready for sleep. "So, Rae, still think camping is awesome?" Sam asked as he turned off the light.

"That wasn't camping! We slept in the car and did research, all the while being terrorised by a demon bird!" Emily objected. "Proper camping is actually fun."

"Camping, hiking, backpacking, it all sucks!" Dean interjected. "Even when there are no supernatural monsters trying to kill you, or normal gigantic animals like bears trying to eat you and your food, there's annoying things like mosquitoes and splinters and the food is terrible! You can't have burgers or pie!"

"Man, for such a bad ass hunter, you're so indulged!" Emily laughed softly in the darkness.

"You know what? I'm with him on this one! That wiping with leaves business is not fun!" Sam disagreed with Emily, making her laugh harder.

Finally silence settled in the room.

Then a sound at the door startled them from their dozes. Dean signalled his siblings into position.

By the time the man breached the door, three guns were pointed at him.

"Hello boys, Emily!"

"Dad?" Sam and Dean exclaimed.

"Christo!" Emily spoke in near synchronization with her brothers. The conditioning was still in effect.

Dean flicked on the lamp on the nightstand and stared at his father. "What are you doing here?" it was asked without any heat because even as he spoke, Dean was crossing the room to hug his father.

"An acquaintance sent me this way, but it looks like the situation has been handled."

Dean stepped aside and Sam took his place without saying a word.

"Good to see you Sammy."

"You too dad." Sam said in a chocked voice. It was a few seconds before he released his father.

"Hey kid!" John engulfed a beaming Emily.

"Hi John."


	3. Chapter 2

When John released Emily, she moved back and stood by her brothers, all three at attention like soldiers at an inspection parade. John marvelled at the fact that even though they did not look alike, there were enough similarities if one looked, similarities that pointed to their common ancestry. That pointed to him. These were his children! He felt a swell of pride at that thought. He could also see they were all tired. It was in the slump of Sam's shoulders and the red rims of Emily's eyes, and the yawn Dean was fighting.

"You guys look beat, I'll see you in the morning," he said. Immediately Dean began to say he wasn't that tired. John was not surprised by Dean's quick negation. His son had a nearly pathological devotion to his family, often times sacrificing his own happiness and comfort for them. "It's okay Dean, I need to turn in myself." John cut in. He wasn't just saying that. It was true; he was bushed, but he hadn't been able to wait for morning to check on his children. Of course he did not verbally share his rare sentimentality, but his eyes quickly roamed over Dean's bandaged hands, the dressing on Emily's shoulder and that peeking under Sam's too small tee. John's heart constricted. He hated seeing his children hurt. But at least they were alive; he could take comfort in that. "Good night, guys."

"Night dad! Night John!" they answered.

The door closed behind him. They each crawled back into their beds. It was a while before the silence was broken.

"What do you suppose he wants?" Sam asked. While he believed their father had indeed been sent by an acquaintance to hunt the wyvern, he knew the man could just as easily have slipped away without dropping in on them when he discovered they had already taken care of the creature.

"I don't know!" Dean sighed. Their father was an enigma he'd given up trying to decipher. He just hoped John didn't need them for a hunt. While any other day Dean would have jumped at the chance to hunt with his father, he was dreading it this time. He was beat, and he knew his siblings were too. All three of them were remarkably resilient, a trait they'd inherited in spades from John, but truth be told, they were at the end of their endurance. After the hunts they'd been on, two of which had brought his siblings to the very ends of their emotional ropes as they raced to save him, they all needed a break. They were banged up physically and emotionally and they needed the scheduled downtime at Bobby's to regroup. But if John asked them on a hunt, Dean knew they wouldn't refuse.

"Maybe he just wanted to see us!" Emily whispered from her bed. Having not been raised by John, the only illusions and disillusions she had about him were those picked up second hand from her brothers. But he was still her father, and she desperately wanted to believe in him, not just as a great hunter, but as a parent too.

"I called him when Dean was dying. He didn't even call back. Somehow I doubt he's here because he missed us!" Sam said bitterly.

Emily gasped, not only at the bitterness of Sam's voice, but also at the truth of his statement. John hadn't called back. Even her grandmother who hadn't exactly welcomed Emily with open arms at their first meeting, had called back that time, given her information and wished them all well.

When it came to their father, Dean rarely shared his brother's view of the man, because he understood John in a way Sam didn't. But tonight, Dean didn't defend John. He would never admit it, but John's abrupt leaving and subsequent silence had taken something from their relationship. And even though Dean had tried and probably succeeded in convincing Sam and Emily that John had left for a good reason, he himself had lost his blind trust in the man.

Sam held his breath and waited for Dean to leap to John's defence. Nothing. Dean's silence was telling. His heartbreak palpable. Of the two of them, he was the one who had been most burnt by John's absence. Sam felt a deep sadness for his brother.

With heavy hearts, the siblings finally fell asleep.

* * *

><p>"So who's doing the breakfast run?" John walked into the room the next morning. He was glad to see all three were up and dressed, and even gladder to see their guns trained on him.<p>

"I think you want one of us to shoot you one day!" Sam grumbled as they all put away their guns.

"Good morning to you too, Sammy!" John smiled. He wasn't going to fight with his son today.

"It's Sam!" was the growled reply.

"He's right though, dad. Knocking isn't likely to kill you. Surprising hunters might." Dean interrupted before Sam laid into his father for his absence or other perceived transgressions.

"I was just checking your instincts!" John grinned. He was feeling chipper this morning. It probably had to do with seeing his children again after so long.

"Tha …" Sam began.

"Can I take your truck?" Emily piped up interrupting Sam and temporarily diffusing the brewing fight.

"What?" all the three men turned to face her.

"For the breakfast run, I mean."

"No, I'll go." Dean declared.

"Come on Dean!" she complained.

"Rae, you …" Dean trailed off as he remembered Sam's words in Greenville. Emily was more than capable of going to a diner on her own. "can take my car!" he finished gamely. Both Sam and Emily smiled.

"Thanks!" she said then she turned to John. "Can I? Please?" She even added an uncustomary begging whine to her words. She really wanted to drive that truck. She had secretly named it Nimbus. Of course she'd never tell anyone that. They'd all think her lame.

"Okay." John said. Emily heard the slow reluctance in the acquiesce, but she didn't care. He'd said yes. That's what mattered. She was going to drive Nimbus!

"Awesome!" she crowed and raced to the weapons bag.

"You should go easy on the gas!" John warned.

"No chance!" she thought. "I will!" she promised with her fingers firmly crossed.

Dean smiled, having heard the lie in her excited voice. She was obviously going to test that truck, probably burn rubber. Their father had no idea how crazy she could be.

Forgetting to complain and nag Dean about picking his things off the floor, Emily weaved her way around the mess to where John had perched himself. "Keys?" she held out her hand, practically hopping from foot to foot.

"Hope you've got your gun." John said mildly.

"Yep!" she chirped.

"And your knife?"

Emily stiffened slightly. "Got two actually!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, eyes glowing with mischief. Dean held up five fingers, Sam held up four. They were silently betting after how many reminders Emily would snap.

"And a bottle of holy water."

She stiffened again. "Check."

"And salt!"

Finally, she had had enough. "Hey, I'm not a moron, you know!" she snapped.

Sam and Dean tried unsuccessfully to hold in their laughter. Sam's exploded in a noisy splutter of sound, while Dean guffawed and tried to turn it into a cough. John turned away from a scowling Emily to glower at his sons who were trying desperately to hide their amusement. His disfavour made them laugh even more. Knowing that telling them off would lose him even more points and make them crack up more, he turned back to Emily, whose lips had started twitching as she watched her brothers laugh, and handed her the keys.

"It's a big car, so be careful!" he said, resisting the urge to say more.

"I'm a big girl, John!" Emily said flippantly, then as she flounced out of the room she added, "Unlike Beavis and Butt-Head over there!"

"Hey!" the brothers protested, but Emily was gone and John was now chuckling appreciatively.

"So what is it like hunting with a girl?" he asked with a smile. Emily really was something.

"Don't you mean two girls, dad?" Dean quipped. Sam punched him.

"It's ummm …" Sam began.

"Different!" both him and Dean said simultaneously.

"Want me to take her off your hands, then?" John joked.

The smiles immediately fell off the boys' faces. "What? No way!" they both exclaimed in horror.

"Why not?" John's smile slipped a little.

The brothers' eyes flickered to each other for a split moment then turned back to John. Neither answered. They didn't know how to say what they wanted to say. Sam and Dean loved and respected their father, but truth be told, the man was a lukewarm father, and they simply couldn't picture their expressive, tactile sister on the road with him for months on end. John was not exactly known for his expressiveness, and Emily would shrivel from the lack of closeness. Also, he'd probably forget that as a girl, she had a few unique needs, and he would dismiss them or inadvertently get impatient with her. Besides, his priorities were a bit eschewed. Dean especially remembered the nights without food because John had left enough food and money for five days and had then gone hunting for eight days. At least the two brothers had had each other, and Sam had the magic puppy eyes and Dean had the ability to charm any female. Those gifts had not only kept them fed, they'd also kept the two of them from being thrown out of motel rooms, and from being carted off by Child Protection Services. Of course, being older, wiser and not in danger of being taken away by well intending adults, Emily would probably figure out a solution if she got abandoned by John, but Dean would rather that never happened.

John hadn't thought it possible, but he felt incredibly hurt seeing the dismay on his sons' faces, and realising it wasn't because they were reluctant to part with their sister, which they were, but because they didn't trust him with her.

"She's better off with us." It was Dean who answered, having found what he believed was a less hurtful way of telling his father that there was no way in hell Emily was going with him.

"I think she'll learn more hunting with me …"

Even as he said it, John knew it wasn't true. Sure he'd taught Dean, and his boy was the best hunter there was, but he'd not really taught Sam who was just as skilled, only not as experienced having been on lesser hunts than his brother. Dean had done that. He was the one who had had the patience to deal with Sam who had always been apathetic about hunting. But if he'd taught Dean and Dean had taught Sam, then in effect he'd taught Sam too, right? Nah, who was he kidding?

"… and I'll watch out for her."

He couldn't believe he was in effect begging his sons for access to his daughter. John had asked the first question as a joke, the second question and third statement had been knee-jerk responses because his sons' reactions to his first question had hurt and rankled, but now, the idea had actually taken root, and he was really considering it seriously. He really could use a partner and Emily wouldn't be bad. From what he remembered of the drills at the yard, she was a good shot and she listened, and followed instructions which was one of the best traits of a junior hunter. Besides, she could make for good company. She was intelligent, witty, and nearly impossibly chirpy but knew when to keep quiet, and most importantly, unlike many hunters out there, she didn't hate his guts, at least not yet. Having no contentious past behind them, she and him had a rapport that was different from that he shared with his sons who he believed subconsciously resented him for their lacking childhoods. Of course neither had never expressly told him that, not even Sam who was very vocal, but he knew they did. He would if he were in their shoes.

The brothers snorted in derision at John's statement. Despite what he thought, it wasn't resentment holding back either of his sons. They just didn't fully trust him. Yes, they had confidence in him, and in his abilities, after all he was a great hunter, legendary really, but they didn't trust him.

Sam knew it was Dean who had watched out for him on hunts and not John. He also remembered how more often Dean had gotten hurt on hunts before Sam had joined the family business and started to watch his brother's back. Their father's idea of watching out for someone, was different from nearly everyone else's. Sam had no doubt their father loved them and would do absolutely anything and everything in his power to keep them safe, but on a hunt, the man was single minded. Only after the big bad they were hunting was destroyed would he check on his sons. Albeit when he checked, he did so with a gentleness he rarely showed outside of a hunt, so there was that. Still, Sam thought his father's saving graces were few.

"Dean and I watch out for her," he answered his father.

Dean's thought process was nearly parallel to Sam's. He couldn't trust his father to watch out for Emily, just like he'd not trusted him to watch out for Sam, because the man was reckless and rash. John went into a hunt with intention to neutralise the threat at all costs. Dean went into a hunt with the intention to keep his siblings safe while neutralising the threat. For him Sam and Emily came first. With John the hunt came first. So Dean would never let either sibling go off on a hunt with their father alone. Besides, it certainly didn't help that for all their logic, and reason and big brains, his siblings could be just as impulsive and tunnel visioned as their father.

"We all watch out for each other." Dean amended Sam's statement making his brother turn to look at him in pleased surprise.

"It's best for hunters to hunt in pairs!" Okay that wasn't true but John had run out of ammunition and had decided to use the gun as a club.

"You mostly hunt alone, so does Bobby and Rufus and I bet there are others we don't know. Besides, who says what's best and what isn't? It's not like there's a damn hunters' law or Bible out there! So, whatever works is probably best. You, me and Dean hunted together for years." Sam answered.

John glared at him. It was always Sam with the backtalk! "Only because I was training the two of you, so you could be able to hunt together as a pair."

"You trained me?" Sam was incredulous, his tone almost a mocking laugh, as he reacted to his father's words with angry disdain.

"Well, we're doing just fine hunting as a trio! We have a working system!" Dean cut in quickly giving his father no time to respond to Sam.

Now John was pissed. How dare his sons fight him so hard! So, he wasn't the best father out there, but he certainly wasn't the worst. His heart had always been in the right place, his intentions had always been good. Besides, the boys weren't entirely irreproachable when it came to their treatment of Emily. "You didn't even want her to come along with you!" he spoke realising belatedly how immature that sounded.

Dean's jaw began ticking furiously. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but seething. "Yeah, well, she did, and now, we're working quite well together, no thanks to you by the way. You forced our hand but we've managed to make it work, and now you want to destroy it, uh? For what? A second chance? Absolution? Well, trust me, taking Rae with you is not the way to get redemption for being a crappy father!" There, he had said it. For the first time in his life, Dean had acknowledged his father's shortcomings. For years Sam had raged against John's brand of parenting, but Dean had never.

A charged silence followed the words.

Then Sam broke it. "I'll come with you," he spoke softly, the words almost a placating whisper.

Both Dean and John stared at him in shock.

If Dean had been the one making that offer, it would have been understandable and expected, but for Sam to make it? It was unbelievable! Sam hadn't wanted to go anywhere alone with his father since he'd turned fifteen.

"If it's really a partner you want, I'll come with you. Emily will stay with Dean" Sam continued just as quietly.

John was astonished. When had his sons switched personalities? Dean was questioning him and Sam was being a martyr?

Then it hit him with amazing clarity. Sam was now a big brother too. Of course he would take his cues from Dean. He could only be a big brother the way he had seen Dean be; self-sacrificing and altruistic. Dean on the other hand was standing up to John for the first time, because this time, he could. As a child, Dean had had no choice but to defer to his father when it came to Sam, because John was the adult and the parent. Well, those days were over. Now, Dean was an adult too, and even though he was not the parent, he was the responsible one. He'd practically raised Sam. He was the one who had been there for his siblings, especially Sam. He was the one they both turned to when they needed comforting or reassurance, or advice, not John. Dean was the one who protected them, who watched over them.

John was grateful for one thing. His children were close and maybe he could take comfort from that, even though it really hurt that their circle was not wide enough to include him.

"Not on my watch, Sam!" Dean declared adamantly to his brother.

Sam turned to glare at Dean. "You'd rather he take …"

"No! It's all of us or none!"

John couldn't believe how a small joke had escalated into this tense standoff. Sadness engulfed his heart as he realised his choices had led to this; led to his alienation from his own children. "Enough!" he bellowed. When his sons stiffened at the tone and turned to look at him, he continued. "Sam, you can't come with me!" then with a wry smile, he added, "We'd kill each other in weeks! And Emily, well … let's face it, she probably thinks I'm ancient or something, since I don't even have an email address!"

"Yeah! Even Sammy was shocked you knew how to send a text message!" Dean latched on to the opening, smiling wryly, playing along in a bid to ignore the hurt his father was trying to hide with the sudden lighthearted display.

John smiled. "Yeah well, I am not a moron you know!" he said, trying for the same air of indignation Emily had affected earlier, but falling short.

Dean snorted a laugh, "You have to use a bitch face and pitch your voice higher than that, dad! Come on Sam, show him how it's done!"

Sam glared at his brother, but his lips twitched and John let out a bark of genuine laughter. The humour helped, but the tense environment only started dissipating, as each Winchester battened down the discussion in his mind, never to acknowledge it again. Deflection, and repression, probably the greatest survival weapons the Winchesters employed had once again saved the day.


	4. Chapter 3

The residual tension melted away when Emily crashed into the room with a happy flush on her face and her eyes twinkling with joy. She returned John's keys with a cheery, "That was awesome!" and he groaned, wondering what she had done to his truck. Dean immediately got distracted by the fact that she had brought coconut cream pie, something she announced with relish and a grin in his direction. Sam, despite lecturing Dean about being a worrywart, was just glad she was back unharmed. On her part, Emily had noticed the tension between her brothers and father as soon as she burst into the room. It was hard to miss, as it shone out of Dean's anxious eyes when they flickered quickly to her then swung back to John, and it was written in the stiff way Sam held himself, and unconsciously angled himself away from John and it was visible in John's thinned out lips. She wondered what had happened in her absence, but thought better of asking, knowing that questions would only escalate the situation. She also made a concerted effort not to let whatever was going on dampen her spirits. As it was, her upbeat bearing lightened everyone else's mood and breakfast was a surprisingly civil, drama free and enjoyable affair.

The calm didn't last long because in the middle of the light-hearted story telling and teasing and catching each other up, John unfortunately charted onto waters that were still turbulent.

"So what was it anyway?" he asked.

"What was what?" Emily asked.

"The creature in the park?"

"A wyvern! Frankly, we were hoping for a griffin!" Dean answered, a small smile playing on his face.

John felt an unbelievable surge of parental pride; he'd be bragging about this one for years to come! "You took down a wyvern?" he spoke more in awe than disbelief. "I've never been up against one, but from what I've read, they're hard beasts to pin down. That would have been one hell of a situation to handle alone!" he added wryly. It was a sincere and innocent remark, that was unfortunately ill-timed. John didn't mean anything by it, but considering the contentious topic earlier, it was the wrong thing to say.

"Well, I'm sure you'd have found a way to do it alone!" Sam said rather snidely. He couldn't believe John was still trying to guilt them into letting Emily go with him.

John's eyes flicked curiously to Sam, then to Dean who had immediately tensed at his brother's words. For Dean's sake, John chose to ignore Sam's tone, instead continuing to speak with droll humour. "Maybe I would have, but rather you three than me, uh? So how did you destroy it?"

Emily perked excitedly and opened her mouth intending a detailed retelling of the hunt while Dean readied himself to add anecdotes to the tale and complaints about how the wyvern had scratched up his baby's roof.

"We shot it with salt, iron and silver." Sam answered shortly, beating his siblings to the punch.

Emily's mouth snapped shut, Dean raised an eyebrow and John frowned.

Sam looked at each one in turn, then shrugged, "What? That's what happened!"

"Yeah, the extremely condensed version!" Emily muttered. She couldn't for the life of her understand why Sam was suddenly being obnoxious. She glanced at Dean, and saw the weary resignation in his eyes. Apparently, he had been expecting this, whatever this was.

"Well, dad's not really interested in details! You might as well save your breath!" Sam answered her.

"Why would you say that?" John asked mildly, refusing to be baited into a fight.

"Jesus, Dad! We all know you don't really care, so stop pretending to. We're not buying it! Okay?" Sam said dismissively.

Great! Dean thought. He wasn't surprised though, he had known the calm wouldn't last. Still he tried a last ditch effort to reign in his brother. "Sam …" he began.

Sam refused to be placated by his brother. "No, Dean! Enough! Do not defend him!" he growled at Dean before turning to John with a thunderous glower and pouring out his frustrations and bitterness in accusatory vitriol. "All you care about is the damn hunt! We haven't heard from you in months, and no, those stupid coordinates messages you send don't count. Where were you when we needed you? Where were you when Dean was dying, huh? We called and you didn't even call back! Then you waltz in here like you're just coming back from a short walk, and you expect us to pretend everything's perfect? You think we'd let you take Rae with you, as if she's another weapon in your arsenal you can pick up and take hunting with you until you acquire another?"

Emily's eyes widened at this revelation. John had wanted her to go with him? Well, that must have gone down well with her brothers! And it explained the tension she'd walked in on earlier. She looked at John who had an unreadable look on his face, then at Sam whose nose was flaring in anger and distress, then she glanced at Dean who had a pained, almost traumatised look on his face.

"Well, you know what? Screw you dad, we've managed to get by without you and we'll be fine if you walk right back out of that door now!" Sam finished with hateful flourish.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Emily didn't know what to do. She could storm and rage with the best of them, but usually, it was in resistance to something said or done to her, or in defence of her opinion or stand, or in annoyance, mild anger or downright rage, and she could more than hold her own in an argument. However, she was extremely awkward when she was a third party to a fight, or as in this case a rant, especially one that was filled with such deep hurt and grief. So she sat eerily still, as if that would somehow make her invisible, and she waited for Dean to handle this one.

Dean on the other hand was silent because he didn't know whether to applaud Sam or tell him off. He knew that Sam, considerate as ever, had tried to hold in the bitterness he had towards John, because he hadn't wanted to ruin the reunion with their father for his siblings. Unfortunately, Sam had never been one to successfully hide his feelings for long. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his brain was short-circuiting, refusing to string together a coherent thought long enough for it to get to his mouth.

Then John did the most uncharacteristic thing he'd ever done in his sons' eyes. He apologised. "I'm sorry," he said simply, and sincerely, without any dramatics, without trying to absolve himself, and without making Sam out to be the bad guy.

The brothers' jaws hit the ground. Dean quietly whispered Christo. Emily who had heard enough about John from her brothers to know that an apology from him was uncharacteristic, was just as surprised. The three siblings instinctively drew closer to each other and John wondered whether they did that for emotional support, or for physical safety, or so they could launch a devastating united attack if he tried anything.

"I should have called back, but I had no doubt you'd be okay, and I had my reasons for not calling." he continued.

"Really?" Sam snarled. He wasn't just going to let his anger dissolve just because their father was behaving uncharacteristically. He needed a quantifiable answer.

"I couldn't call or even come to you guys because there were people on my trail. I didn't want to lead them straight to you."

"Who were they? Hunters? Police? FBI?" Dean asked quickly, eager to keep the change in topic, as analysing their father's parental lethargy would only breed more angst and discord.

"I never found out." John admitted rather reluctantly.

"Really!" Dean couldn't help the incredulity that crept into his voice as his eyes roamed over his father, checking for a tell.

"What did they want?" Sam asked grudgingly, his curiosity momentarily overpowering his indignation.

"I never found that out either! After about three days of trying to shake them, I decided to set a trap, then I doubled back to sneak up on them, and they were gone!"

"They just left?" Dean exclaimed in disbelief. "You didn't lose them? What if they just backed off to give you a false sense of security? Are you sure you weren't followed here?" he added, then his eyes widened as he realised he had just questioned his father's skills. He stiffened as he waited for John to tear into him.

John didn't exactly lash out, but in a hard voice he answered with a question of his own. "You think I would lead a group of strangers to you three without at least giving you a heads up?"

Dean stared at the ground and shook his head. He knew that if there was need, John would at least call ahead so they wouldn't be caught by surprise.

"I made damn sure!" John added.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Sam said in a voice that was part pensive and part suspicious. Even though the hunting world rarely made sense, some things remained logical. Being followed inevitably led to a confrontation, one way or another. When that didn't happen, it was utterly disconcerting.

"I know!" John shrugged, clearly as mystified by the events as his sons were. "Who knows, maybe I was being paranoid!"

Being paranoid was one thing Sam and Dean would never accuse John of. They could tell he had been unsettled by the happenings. So maybe his keeping away was necessary and hence forgivable.

Emily had watched in amazement as the atmosphere in the room changed once again, from highly charged family drama to cool calculated analysis mode in barely any time. She shook her head slightly thinking how her family could give a person emotional whiplash! Well, as the contentious topic from before seemed to have been laid aside, at least for now, she decided to join in the discussion with a concern of hers. "Could they have been possessed or something?"

"I highly doubt that. There were five of them after all ... they would have taken me on or something, but from your question I take it Bobby called you about the reavers?" John answered, quickly intuiting Emily's fear.

Emily said yeah and the boys nodded. John saw the emotions that flitted across their faces. Fear, sorrow, then resolve in Emily's case, and worry followed by grim determination on the boys' faces. John nodded in approval. His children were not going to fold.

"What we don't understand is why the demons want her soul downstairs!" Dean finally voiced what had been bothering him since Bobby's call.

Sam nodded in agreement with Dean. Emily remained outwardly stoic even though her heart had started hammering in anxiety. She had known the question would eventually be asked. In fact, she was surprised it hadn't been asked till now. Given the chance to ask Bobby anything, Dean had asked how a reaver could be killed. The answer to that question hadn't exactly been comforting either. Emily could have gladly stayed ignorant to that information, and she really didn't want to know why demons wanted her. She was terrified to find out. Was she some evil lynchpin or something? Was she a monster? The circumstances of her conception were not lost on her. She was aware that John had not been in control when she'd been conceived. So she had his DNA, but what if she had inherited something else from whatever had been in the driving seat? Something evil?

"You read the letters that were in the box, didn't you?" John asked in answer.

Emily nodded. She'd read them so many times, she'd never forget the contents. Sam and Dean looked sheepish. Dean had never bothered to even look into the box, while Sam had started to read the letters but hadn't gotten too far, and subsequent events and circumstances had not allowed him to get back to the task. He'd consequently convinced himself the letters weren't of much significance to Emily's safety as long as she was with him and Dean. Besides, John had taken the box with him.

John frowned at his sons. He could understand Dean's reluctance. Emily's letters, written to her by her biological mother, would have gotten Dean thinking about and missing his own lost mother. The task would have been too painful for him. But Sam who didn't remember Mary at all, and loved hearing about her, shouldn't have had much trouble with the letters. John took a deep breath. Lecturing his sons about their responsibilities would not endear him to them, and would serve no purpose now. He might as well explain Emily's possible destiny.

"Emily's mother was convinced that Emily is the balance, so …" he began.

"The balance? What does that mean?" Sam asked.

John sighed. The boys really hadn't read the letters. "Well, according to a couple of prophesies, after the end of days, the balance is meant to restore order, and keep the power from being tipped by either side," he summarised.

"Either side?"

"Heaven and hell."

"Heaven? You're kidding, right?" Dean snorted a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, the prophecies certainly think it exists, so who knows?" John said with a similar disbelieving snort.

Sam rolled his eyes at them. He couldn't believe they were such sceptics given the nature of the family business.

"Anyway, whatever it is that Emily is meant to do is connected to that Bible passage that states the meek will inherit the earth." John continued.

Emily frowned. She already knew that, but it didn't answer why the demons wanted her. John saw her puzzlement, he realised that even Emily who knew about her status as the balance, did not understand how that made her such a wanted commodity. Apparently, neither did her brothers, because Sam was quick to ask, "Why would the demons want her downstairs and not just dead?" He glanced at her and added apologetically, "Not that I want you dead, Rae, I'm just saying!"

She smiled widely at him, vindicating him immediately. Of course she understood what he was asking.

"Don't you guys get it? If Emily becomes a demon, then demons will inherit the earth through her! It's a good thing that prophesies get lost in time and that that particular prophesy is not common knowledge, otherwise there would be a bounty on her head!"

Horrified understanding slowly dawned in three pairs of eyes.

"It's common enough knowledge, dad! Demons want to kill her!" Dean said in utter horror.

"I know, but from what I can tell, it's only one demon. Unfortunately it appears to be a high tier one, so it is very powerful. However, it's also extremely territorial and distrustful. Because of this, it sends only one or two underlings at a time so as not to draw its peers' attention. Also, it appears the underlings don't leave a trail of death and destruction, so I think they're expected to keep a low profile."

"Well, that's marginally good news, but it's still not very comforting. I don't think the 'do not murder clause' extends to Rae!" Dean protested.

"Jesus, guys could you be more sensitive!" Sam admonished his brother and father. They were talking as if Emily was not in the room with them. "Are you okay?" he asked Emily who he noticed had gone rather pale.

"Sorry!" Dean apologised immediately.

"Am I part demon?" Emily asked in a whisper, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears of fear and anxiety.

"Shit! Is that what she thought?" John thought, his heart constricting in sympathy for his daughter and the fear and dread she must have been living with all this time. "Of course, you're not!" he exclaimed.

"But you just said …" she began.

"What? I didn't say you were a demon. I said you could become one ... yes, but that doesn't mean you're one, or partly one now. Demons are not born, they're created from human souls that have been corrupted and warped after years of torture in hell."

"But you weren't yourself when you met my mother. What if whatever possessed you is in me?"

"Hey, I want you to listen to me carefully, okay? Even if you were conceived wrong, even if you had consequently been born evil, which knowing you, you obviously weren't, you are family! And family comes first and above all else!" Dean said forcefully. "You hear me?"

Emily nodded. The intense look in Dean's eyes didn't scare her; instead, it was reassuring.

Sam looped an arm around her shoulders. "Yep, sorry to have to tell you this, but you're stuck with us!"

"Unfortunately!" John added with a smile, laying a hand on her knee.

The fear and anxiety Emily had been feeling was quickly overtaken by relief and love. Her lips upturned in a shaky smile. Whoever or whatever Gale Cursor had been, he'd given her a family, a great gift, intentional or not.

Dean's eyes softened as he looked at his siblings. Then he turned back to John. "So if we take out the demon … Rae will be safe, right? Well, as safe as a hunter can ever be!"

"Yes! And when I find out who he is, I'm going to kill the son of a bitch!" John said with a wild glint in his eyes.

"How?" Sam couldn't help asking. John was one of the best hunters out there, but even he couldn't kill a demon.

"I'll find a way." John said mildly. He'd tell them about the colt when the time was right.

Sam looked at his father questioningly. Somehow, he sensed the man was leaving something out, but he didn't call him out on it. Now was not the time to get into it with his father; not when his siblings needed him. He smiled at Emily who needed his reassurance and protection. Then he stole a glance at Dean who needed support even though he'd never admit it.

* * *

><p>John hadn't intended to stay past breakfast, but he hadn't seen his children, especially his sons in so long, and even though the reunion hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd imagined it would, he really was happy to see them. Besides, he'd known there would be some animosity towards him though he'd really not anticipated the actual intensity. But now that they'd tackled the issues, and hopefully drained the emotional bile, maybe the rest of the day could be crisis free. He also remembered that melancholy night when he'd realised the picture he had of his sons was so old, and that he had none of Emily. He'd sworn to himself that the next time he met with his children, he'd make sure they took some photos. So he decided to spend the day with them with no further talk of hunting. He knew it was a belated gesture that couldn't begin to make up for all the times he'd been a subpar father, but it was all he could offer. He hoped that someday they'd look back at today with fondness.<p>

They packed up and left the motel, driving into town. Emily rode with John at her request and on the short drive, he asked how she was coping. He was glad to hear that she loved and enjoyed her brothers' company, though she sometimes longed for privacy. She found the challenges and unpredictability of hunting exhilarating, even though she hated the emotional cost of some of the hunts. She loved being on the road, especially at night when she could pretend the three of them were the only people in the world, but she hated having to sit for long. She didn't care much for some of the motels they'd been in, but liked the diversity of the people they met. She finally threw his question back at him and even though he was less forthcoming than she'd been, he shared more than he usually did.

When they got to the mall, she raised an eyebrow at the location. "You'll see!" he promised with a grin as they climbed out of the truck and waited for the boys to sidle up to them. They strode into the mall, oblivious to the mostly appreciative looks they were getting.

John stopped in front of a photo booth and turned to see his children's reactions. The wide eyed looks of horror his sons were sporting made him laugh heartily. The shock they exhibited, while not the exorcism he'd thought they would perform on him, was still hilarious. Emily looked at them with a 'what's wrong with you two?' look on her face, chuckled happily and clapped, "Come on, what are we waiting for?" When no one followed her in, she popped back outside, went round her brothers and shoved them into the tiny booth, then jumped in and onto Sam's lap. John who was still chortling followed them in and closed the curtain. It was a tight fit.

"This qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment!" Dean grumbled though a smile was evident in his voice. The last time their father had done something spontaneous that was not hunt related was the day he'd called off work and taken Dean to the fair. The fire that had changed their lives had happened two days later.

After going through the themes that included best friends forever, sweethearts, and fun and flirty, they settled for general. The brothers quickly lost their inhibitions, especially as their cheery sister teased them, and laughed gaily and their father wore an uncharacteristically happy expression and smiled at the carryings on. They discarded a couple of photo sets with comments like, "You ruined this one, waving your huge hands around!" and "You look constipated in this one!" The strip of photos they settled on had rather conventional shots of the four of them grinning at the camera, with only slight differences between the pictures. Sam who was the most meticulous, cut the picture strip into four and each of them took a picture.

They wandered aimlessly until they found a corner that had arcade games and they tried their luck, or rather showcased their skills at the shooting game. The bemused attendant handed over their prizes which they promptly gave away to some kids. A teenage boy looked at Emily with interest, and began to head over. Sam's glare did nothing to dissuade him, Dean's frown gave him only slight pause, but the implacable look on John's face made the boy scurry away. Sam and Dean shook their heads in disbelief and whipped out their wallets, each handing John ten dollars. Emily huffed at the three of them and turned away. They had no way of knowing she was grinning at the absurdity of their bet. Later they sat down to lunch, which they filled with tales that got more outrageous as each one tried to outdo the other. They then went to the cinema. The movie they'd paid for bored them ten minutes in so they left and went to another hall where they watched a western, snickering at the shooting inaccuracies and the overly dramatic deaths.

It was 6 pm when they stood in the parking lot saying their goodbyes. Despite the disastrous morning, the day had turned out remarkably well, and it was therefore with heavy hearts that the three siblings said goodbye to John. It wasn't everyday that he was a father in any sense of the word and they were going to miss that. They were going to miss him.

"Can't we come with you?" Emily asked, even though she could guess his response.

In answer, John briefly touched his forehead to hers, then he grabbed her in a hug. He hugged Sam, then Dean, giving his oldest an extra pat on the back before getting in his truck. "Take care of each other." He nodded once and drove away.

The three of them watched the truck disappear then without a word, they got into the impala, Emily in the backseat since Sam had called shotgun. They went in the opposite direction to their father's.

For the first hour on the road, no one spoke. Then Dean finally verbalised his awe, "Well, that was surreal!"

"Yeah!" both Sam and Emily agreed with wistful smiles on their faces.


	5. Chapter 4

In an alley almost two blocks away from the mall the Winchesters had been in, a tall brown haired woman spoke to four younger men. "Follow them. Hopefully they're going home to their mother. When they meet up with her, rip out their throats and hers too. Send me pictures of proof, when you're done!"

"Sure thing mum," one of the men said.

"Want us to bring you the hearts too?" a second one quipped but there was a morbid seriousness to his question.

"That won't be necessary, Gunner!" the woman smiled indulgently.

"Do we have to kill the girl too?" a third asked quietly, almost regretfully.

"All of them!" the woman emphasised. "Now get to it, before they get too far ahead and you lose their scent." The five of them had been tailing John, but he had spotted them and laid an impressive trap. John fucking Winchester was really as good as his legend. It was more luck than skill that they'd not been caught. Duly humbled, they had decided to fall further back and follow him only by scent. With their heightened sense of smell, they could tail him from miles away, only drawing closer cautiously when necessary for example when he went into a bar, where his scent mingled with others and was harder to isolate.

Remote-tailing John Winchester hadn't been easy. He visited bars a lot and it didn't help that he was an inherently suspicious man for whom evasion measures were second nature, whether he thought he was being followed or not. Still, the method had worked, because after some insane precautionary manoeuvres on his part, some of which had almost been successful at shaking them off, he had led them to their target — his children, who would hopefully lead to his wife. Then John would pay for his sins through the loss of his loved ones.

As instructed, the men piled into a nondescript minivan.

"Hunter?" the woman held back the eldest man momentarily, "Take care of the girl yourself, I don't think Archer can manage it. He won't have the same misgivings when it comes to her brothers so he and Carver should do them. Gunner can take the mother."

Hunter knew all his brothers well, including their strengths, weaknesses and dispositions, and he'd have delegated the duties the same way. He smiled at his mother, got behind the wheel of the van and drove off.

The woman got into a battered Toyota. She pulled down the sun visor, and touched her fingers to her lips then to the picture stuck on the visor. "Through our sons, revenge will be ours, my love," she whispered with feeling. She then carried out an illegal U-turn to go in the opposite direction to the one her sons had gone in.

* * *

><p>It was almost 2 a.m. when Dean parked the impala in Bobby's salvage yard. He'd reluctantly let Sam and Emily drive for two hours each before getting back behind the wheel. Sam had jokingly called him a control freak, and Emily had agreed, saying something stereotypically ridiculous about first-borns. After snorting with laughter, Dean had pointed out that she had technically been a first born for eighteen years, so she'd just profiled herself too. She countered saying she'd been a last born as well, so she was better adjusted. That had brought Sam back into the conversation as he declared that he was the best adjusted of all three. He'd given a number of examples that had Dean and Emily laughing and scoffing rebuttals. The minutes that had followed had been filled with good-natured name calling and silly outrageous digs at each other. When Emily had fallen asleep, and Sam had gotten lost in his thoughts, Dean had played his Metallica tape for company, the volume set low in deference to Emily. He'd been surprised but pleased when Sam's head had fallen back, his mouth slack with sleep. His brother wasn't getting much sleep and any little he snatched made Dean feel better. He'd reached over and turned off the music, as a courtesy to Sam, and the next 120 miles had been covered in silence, something Dean was not accustomed to or really comfortable with.<p>

Now he was glad the journey was over. He hated to wake either sibling up, especially Sam, but he had to. He rolled his neck and popped his shoulders before shaking the others awake.

Emily sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "Where are we?" she asked sleepily. Then her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings illuminated by the car's headlights. "We're home!" She bounded out of the car hollering Bobby's name, all traces of sleep gone.

Sam exited the vehicle in a more leisurely manner, he let out an exaggerated yawn and stretched his long frame. He grinned as he watched Emily, marvelling at her sudden energy. It was obvious she had missed Bobby. "There's no place like home!" he whispered softly to himself. After the impala, Bobby's place was the only other place he and Dean considered home. He knew Emily had inherited a house from her parents, but he wondered whether she still considered it home. She never talked about it, so there was no way of knowing.

Dean heard Sam's quiet declaration and agreed with it completely, but he had a rep to protect, and he was not going to get mushy. Besides, Sam had just presented him with fodder for his next statement, and he was not going to miss the opportunity. "You said it, Dorothy!" he said heartily clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Let's go, I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry, and if I'm Dorothy wouldn't that make you To…" Sam began as he popped the trunk.

"Finish that sentence and I'll kick your ass!" Dean interrupted him with a mock glare.

Sam chuckled, as he grabbed a couple of duffel bags. "I forget how cranky you get when you're hungry."

Dean grabbed the rest of the bags and closed the trunk. Ahead of them, Emily used the light of her phone to retrieve a key from the glovebox of a rusted tow truck. "Guess we beat him home," she said with disappointment as she crossed over to the door. She had really been looking forward to seeing Bobby again. And Rumsfeld.

"He'll be back soon enough." Dean pointed out gently, then ruined it by adding with a grin in Sam's direction, "Dorothy here just has to click her shoes just right!"

"I will, when Toto here stops misbehaving!" Sam retorted.

"Well, for the sake of results, you might want to lower your expectations of him!" Emily told Sam.

"Frankly, I don't know whether that was an insult or a compliment!" Dean waggled his eyebrows. Laughing, they went upstairs to their rooms.

"Hey sweetheart, I missed you! Did you miss me?" Emily caressed her guitar, then gave it a kiss.

Sam who had just walked in through the open door to drop off Emily's duffel and satchel chuckled, "You sound like someone we are both unfortunately related to!"

Emily put down the guitar and smiled, "Nuh huh, I've been away from my baby for months, Sam, months! Dean on the other hand practically kisses his car good morning!"

"Well, she's the only girl I've ever really understood! You two interested in a sandwich?" Dean popped his head round the door frame.

"Yes!" Emily said enthusiastically.

"I'm good. Going to have a shower and turn in." Sam declined.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's answer and headed downstairs.

"Goodnight!" Emily impulsively pecked Sam on the cheek and took off after Dean.

In companionable silence, the two of them constructed elaborate sandwiches. They ate standing, Dean leaning against the kitchen sink and Emily propped by the desk next to Bobby's law-enforcement impersonation phones.

Halfway through his sandwich, Dean spoke. "When this is over, do you think you'll go back?"

"What do you mean? Go back where? When what is over?" Emily asked curiously.

"When we gank the thing that killed your family, and tried to kill you, will you return to your old life? I mean school? Friends? Apple pie life?"

"This is my life now, Dean." Emily said softly, with no reproach in her voice.

"Yes, now it is, but when there's no reason for you to be a hunter anymore, will you leave?"

"How can you say that? There will always be a reason to hunt! There will be other monsters, even after we've killed the one that is after me!" Emily was aghast that Dean would think her so selfish. That he would think she was here only for herself.

"I didn't mean to …"

Emily interrupted him. "I know the reason I wanted to hunt was for revenge, but along the way it has become so much more. This life may not be what I pictured my life would be, but I'm not complaining."

"Hey, keep your boots on! I didn't mean it as an insult. I just … I, I don't want this life for you!"

Emily immediately simmered down at his words. "You'd be a lousy big brother if you didn't have misgivings, but there are worse things than hunting. True we see some terrible things and we sometimes get hurt, and it's mostly a thankless gig, but that comes with the territory, and you can't deny feeling that sense of accomplishment when we get rid of another evil thing, and save someone. I like hunting … well, mostly. I admit it does get to me sometimes, but the only time I'd ever consider walking away from it, is if you and Sam leave as well. You two, Bobby and John are the only family I've got, and I won't just give you up!"

"You wouldn't be giving us up! Just the hunting. What if I said I wanted you to consider it? Leaving the hunt I mean?"

Emily tilted her head to the side. "If you asked? Then I would consider it, but I don't think I'll ever fit in the normal world again."

Dean looked at his sister in amused disbelief. Despite being on the road with them for nearly a year and roughnecking it, Emily's conventional upbringing still shone through. She'd dug graves, had been relatively comfortable in spit and sawdust bars, had spent a couple of nights in negative star motels, had slept in the impala, had gone two days without a proper bath, had trekked through mud, had totally thrown down in fights, and she did have a whiplash tongue and could be very sarcastic, yet despite this and more, her bearing, speech and mannerisms had somehow retained their innate refinement. She still only used cuss words in her head never out loud unless under immense pressure or the influence of meds, she still blushed at rude jokes, she was socially competent, polite, and wasn't as paranoid as he and Sam. If anyone could fit in the normal world again, it was her. And Dean wanted her back in that world, because in the world of hunters, Emily was like a rose in a valley of cacti.

Delicate and sweet, the rose still had thorns like the cacti, and they were just as sharp, and Dean knew first hand that underneath her sweet seemingly harmless exterior, Emily was just as capable as any other hunter out there, just as dangerous. While she wasn't quite yet a veteran of dangerous situations and difficult choices like him and Sam, she could hold her own in many situations and was good at making decisions. Of course he would never completely stop worrying about her physical safety, she was his baby sister after all, but Emily's ability to look after herself made him worry less about that. However, he was constantly afraid about what hunting would do to her psyche. Unlike the cacti that could survive for long in hostile environments, a rose would wither and die after long exposure. It scared Dean that if Emily stayed too long in the darkness of the hunting world, she'd lose herself. The hunt in Greenville had really brought this truth home to him. For a while there, after the end of that hunt, mostly because of the death of Keith Foley, the light in Emily's eyes had dimmed so low, it was like she'd died inside. With relief, Dean had watched the light flicker back to life and grow steadily to return to him the vibrant sister he knew. But what if some hunt down the road extinguished that light completely? She was having nightmares, which was never a good sign. Nightmares indicated a shattered conscience, a conflicted subconscious; awake and busy, the mind successfully suppressed the guilt and other issues, only for them explode with all their poison when the person slept. Nightmares were destroying Sam, and despite trying everything, Dean couldn't do a damn thing to protect his brother from his own mind. And now it was happening to his sister. He didn't want to lose either one, and if that meant setting them free, he'd do it.

So he negotiated, "Okay, how about semi retirement? You know, like Bobby?"

Emily smiled. "Bobby is awesome, I love him, and I love this place, but after I've read all the books here, which granted may take a while, and the novelty of answering phone calls pretending to be an agent's supervisor has worn off, then what? I mean there's only so many panic rooms and such side projects Bobby can have that I could participate in."

"You could go back to school, and just go on a couple of hunts with Bobby when he decides to handle a hunt instead of delegating it, or hunt with me and Sam during your holidays." Dean was not giving up.

Emily realised that even though Dean was speaking almost nonchalantly, he had put considerable thought into this conversation, and these suggestions. She wondered why he was pushing this so hard. "What is this really about?" she finally asked, her eyes narrowed in questioning suspicion.

Dean sighed. Damn, his sister was sharp. He decided to bite the bullet. "Rae, those nightmares you have, what are they about?"

"Fuck!" Emily thought. This wasn't what she'd been expecting. She laughed; a brittle fake laugh that didn't touch her eyes. "Dean, we hunt monsters, don't you think it's inevitable for me to have nightmares?"

Dean almost smiled. Sarcasm, another Winchester deflection. Well, he was the king of deflection, and this wasn't going to stop him. "No it's not inevitable; you're good at compartmentalisation, remarkably so. I mean, your first brush with the supernatural, with that damn reaver that tried to kill you should have left you traumatised for days, but aside from that one nightmare Bobby told us you had in the hospital, you were mostly okay. After your first hunt, killing that cacus and seeing Bobby hurt like that, you should have been a wreck, but you weren't! Well, except for threatening Pastor Jim and refusing to sleep. I know you had nightmares about Keith, Sam told me, but those are reducing in intensity and frequency. So I'm relatively certain that these nightmares you're having now, have nothing to do with our hunts, at least not directly. I know they began after Bobby told us about the reaver's MO and I can only speculate what they're about, but you have to loop me in. So what I want to know is, what's going on, Rae?"

Emily didn't answer. Her appetite was suddenly gone, but she still stuffed the last chunk of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed determinedly, her eyes avoiding Dean.

He sighed in consternation. He knew the signs, he knew she was going to bolt soon. Emily could be annoyingly capricious; some days she was open and chatty, then suddenly she was closed off and uncommunicative. Dean wondered whether it was a girl thing or a peculiarity unique to just her. She was a reticent almost shy person, especially when she was among strangers, but conversely, she was a sharer. He knew she'd eventually talk her issues out. But she often times needed prodding and prompting. She needed interest to be explicitly expressed first before she talked. Still, that didn't mean she was always forthright when asked. Sometimes she could be resistant, and outright refuse to share. There were all sorts of reasons for this. Sometimes it was her stubborn sense of independence getting in the way, as she tried to solve her problem herself, sometimes it was out of misguided concern for the person asking, when she thought the person wouldn't be able to handle what she had to say or when she thought her revelations were hurtful. Sometimes, she just didn't know how to articulate the issue. Deciphering her reasons for reluctance was frustrating and often a lesson in futility. So Dean usually didn't even try, letting Sam do the legwork or leaving Emily alone until she was ready to talk.

"Okay, how about you and Sam talk it out?" he suggested. He figured it would be cathartic for both of them, since both were big on sharing and it could also be their Winchester slash hunter's version of a psych evaluation.

Emily swallowed, picked up her glass and gulped the water down quickly. Then she busied herself rinsing it out and putting it away.

"Rae?" Dean insisted. He knew pushing and nagging were the two fastest ways to get Emily to dig in her heels, or close down but he couldn't help it.

"Dean, it's really late. I have to go to bed." She turned and walked away, stopping at the door when Dean spoke.

"Wrong, geek! It's actually, really early," he began with a wry smile, getting serious as he continued, "but Rae, you have to talk to someone. Me? Sam? Bobby? It doesn't matter. It doesn't even have to be today or tomorrow or the day after that, but I feel you should do it while we're here decompressing. Who knows, maybe it'll help get your head on straight again."

Emily's hands curled into fists, and she almost leapt at the last sentence, hearing censure in it, but she quickly realised Dean was not criticising her. So she instead focused on the concern she heard in his voice and the fact that he was not forcing the issue or giving an ultimatum. "Fine, I'll consider it, okay?" she said a bit curtly. Then she softened, and with a slight apologetic and fond smile she looked at him over her shoulder, "Goodnight."

"G'Night." He hoped she wouldn't have nightmares tonight or ever again, and he silently wished the same for Sam. He wished he had the power to protect them both from themselves, but sadly, that was the one thing he couldn't do. He was even barely able to do it for himself, throwing up walls and hoping his demons didn't crash them down. With a long sigh he finished his sandwich, then called Bobby to let him know they'd made it to the yard.

"Well, yer damn bunch of idjits better not break anything!" was the man's growled answer.

Dean smiled. He really loved the gruff man; Bobby was full of sentimentality but fiercely pretended not to be. "I can't promise that Bobby, you know how clumsy Gigantor is! With his ten mile size feet and uncoordinated elbows!"

Bobby chuckled appreciatively. Sam was no longer that clumsy, but when he'd first hit his growth spurt, he'd been as graceful as a Minotaur in a china shop. He could literally stumble over his own feet and was prone to crashing into things as he miscalculated his new size. Dean though put out by the sudden height advantage his little brother had on him, had been thoroughly amused by the accident-proneness the height brought and had teased Sam mercilessly. Sam had since learnt how to handle his new body, and now moved with the fluid agility of the hunter he was, but that didn't stop Dean's jokes.

Dean went upstairs twenty minutes later after making sure the house was secure. Feeling anxious about not having Emily with them in the same room, he checked in on her before going to his and Sam's room. He got into bed and listened to Sam's steady breathing for a while before falling asleep.


	6. Chapter 5

It felt good to sleep in. Dean woke to find a note on the nightstand. He easily recognised Emily's penmanship.

_"Hey Rip Van Winkle, if we're not home when you wake up, we've gone grocery hunting. Nothing in the kitchen is edible, not even for you Mr. I've-got-a-disposal-bin-for-a-stomach!"_ She'd signed off as Mary Poppins.

Dean chuckled appreciatively as he shuffled to the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later smelling fruity. Sam and Emily were back. He could hear them in the kitchen. Though he couldn't make out what they were saying, he could tell they were happy; they were kidding around and teasing each other. He hummed to himself as he dressed, admitting to himself that the downtime was already proving beneficial, even to him. He rubbed antibiotic cream into his palms and wrapped a gauze bandage round them to cover the rope burns. He'd start the repairs on the impala tomorrow or the day after because he didn't want to pick up an infection. He raced down the stairs, his smile a knee-jerk reaction to his siblings' happiness. The sight that met his eyes in the kitchen made him stop for a moment. Sam was whipping batter while Emily was flipping a golden brown pancake. They were having a particularly silly discussion about the impossibility of time travel. Emily's hair was loose, the way he knew she liked to wear it but rarely did while on a hunt, and she was wearing a cheery knee length floral dress and her worn flip flops. He hadn't seen her looking this girly since they'd hit the road. Sam was barefoot, and was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a green tee that had faded to a weird minty colour. Dean smiled at the tableau.

"If Sam made that, I'm not eating it!" he declared, even though the finished pancake looked and smelt mouthwatering.

Sam glared at him.

"Hey he's actually not that bad. All he needed was a little direction!" Emily defended Sam. Dean raised a sceptical eyebrow. Emily giggled at his look and amended her statement, "Okay, he needed a lot of direction! A staggering number of instructions were necessary to get to this point! But trust me, breakfast is going to be great."

"Oooookay!" Dean said reluctantly, skirting round his siblings to get to the coffee. After he'd taken a sip, smiling appreciatively at the bitterness, he asked. "So what kind of pancakes are those?"

"Bacon pancakes. We're having them with whipped cream and strawberries." Sam smiled as he recited religiously what Emily had told him earlier when he'd asked.

"Have you lost your mind? I don't do fruits!" Dean protested.

"I would hope you don't! That would be disgusting and terribly disturbing!" Sam snickered.

"Sam! That's grossly inappropriate!" Emily admonished Sam, ruining the reprimand with a laugh. Then she turned to Dean. "No strawberries, no pancakes!" she scolded him seriously.

Sam laughed at the stricken look on Dean's face. "Relax! It's not like we're eating a basket of the things!"

"Fine, but you'd better be using real butter in those pancakes and none of that fat free nonsense!" Dean huffed.

"Of course!" Emily said in mock affront. She would never consider fat free anything, it just didn't taste right. Besides, life was short.

They ate in the study, thinking up outrageous punishments Bobby would give them if they spilt coffee on his desk. Dean enthused about the pancakes, and admitted very grudgingly that the whipped cream made the strawberries palatable.

After the meal, Emily bribed Dean into cleaning up with an offer to bake a cake later on.

Dean considered using his healing hands as an excuse to get out of cleaning duty then thought better of it. "Make it a pie and you're on!" he instead bargained.

Emily smiled sheepishly, "I can't make pie crusts to save my life, so unfortunately the offer can only be a cake!"

Dean briefly thought of the pancakes, remembered how good they'd been, and he agreed to the terms. He waved away Sam's offer of help so the two of them left him to it. Emily headed to her room and grabbed her pedicure set, her modest collection of nail polish and her guitar then headed back to the den where Sam was already situated reading a book. She settled herself on the floor and began the task of cutting her nails using a sheet of paper to contain the clippings. Then singing along softly to the music coming from the stereo, she set about painting the nails. It had been a while since she'd done it so she kept getting it wrong and kept removing the polish to start again.

"You've lost your touch!" Dean laughed softly from the doorway where he'd been standing watching her for a minute. Despite having known a multitude of girls over the years, Emily was the first girl he'd watched painting her nails, and no matter how many times he did, he was always fascinated by it.

"Uh?" Emily startled, messing up the nail she'd been painting. With a frustrated huff she cleaned it up. "I guess I'm out of practice!" she sighed.

"Ah, it's just as well, let's go bake that cake!" Dean said unsympathetically.

Emily scrambled to her feet. "I can see you're really broken up about my broken talent!" she said drily.

Grinning widely, Dean grabbed her in a headlock and gave her a playful noogie. "I promise I'll be suitably broken up about it when we … eer ... when you are done baking!"

"How wonderful!" Emily tried to convey the words with sarcasm but failed terribly because she was snorting with laughter, trapped under Dean's armpit.

"Sammy? You coming?" Dean called over his shoulder.

Distracted by his siblings' playfulness, Sam had only gone seven pages into his book but it wasn't like he had an exam or anything. With an eye roll and a fond smile, he closed the book and followed the two idiots to the kitchen.

While Sam threw himself into the cake production as enthusiastically as he had the pancake making, Dean did more tasting than helping, and Emily supervised the proceedings giggling hysterically at her brothers' antics.

"You know raw eggs can make you sick, right?" Sam asked frowning in disapproval as Dean licked the cake mix.

"Nah, I'll be fine! You're the fragile one, Sammy!" Dean retorted making Emily double over with laughter.

"Oh yeah? You won't be making jokes when you're making out with the toilet!"

Finally, the cake was in the oven, and despite all the interruptions, Emily had managed to get a basic beef stew on the stove as well.

As they waited, they played 'Fortunately-Unfortunately.' The boys had never played the game so Emily had to explain it; the gist of the game being that one person would make an unfortunate statement, and then the next person would have to counter the statement with a positive response, then the next would make a negative one until they run out of ideas.

She gave them an example, 'Fortunately I was allowed to play outside with my friends today," which she countered with 'Unfortunately we were attacked by a swarm of bees!' which in turn she countered with 'Fortunately, I had decided to wear my new honey collecting suit today!' countered by 'Unfortunately I ripped it when I fell during a game of tag!' The example's improbability had the boys in stitches and made them willing to engage in the game though Sam proclaimed it was stupid even as he settled in to play.

Of course playing hadn't been smooth sailing right out of the gate because no matter the scenario presented, Dean always went for the 'Fortunately I'm a Jedi Master, I can defeat it with my awesomeness!' statement or a variation of that.

Sam and Emily had to continuously tweak the rules to get him to participate properly. He could not be Batman, or an alien or a supernatural or magical creature, he could not use a supernatural or magical weapon, he could most definitely not be a genetically improved human being and he was not bullet proof or immune to anything a normal human wasn't immune to. After a few minutes of sulking and saying they had sucked the life out of the game, he had participated enthusiastically. Obviously since they were Winchesters, and they had untamed imaginations, they had still managed to get ridiculous scenarios and solutions even without Jedis and bionic body parts thrown in the mix. The game which had began with an innocuous statement, 'Fortunately, there was hot water in the shower this morning,' had ended with 'Unfortunately, the bear was still hungry!" and no one could remember exactly how they had gotten to that point. They'd laughed so hard in the duration of the game, that their stomachs were aching.

If Sam hadn't remembered and dashed off in the middle of the game, there would have been no stew for lunch. Dean didn't care because the cake wasn't in any danger of burning since it was on a timer! Even before it cooled, he had already cut and eaten a piece of it. He approved heartily.

Amazingly, he still had space for lunch. After the meal, Sam returned to his book, Emily finally managed to paint her nails then she scribbled in her book for about twenty minutes before turning on the TV and falling asleep watching General Hospital. Dean on the other hand tinkered with his EMF reader, trying to improve its efficiency. Just because he'd decided not to start work on his car yet, didn't mean he couldn't fix something. Bored after finishing the job, he tried to annoy Sam into a reaction, but Sam refused to be moved. Dean turned his attention to his sleeping sister. Emily was a deep sleeper, but she was conversely a light napper, so Dean was mighty surprised that he had managed to draw half a moustache on her face before she woke and caught him at it. Sam disapproved of Dean's antics, but on seeing Emily's face, he couldn't help exploding into uncontrollable snickers, joined by Dean of course. Emily was not amused. What made her madder was the fact that Dean had used non-washable ink, and after an hour long bath, using lots of soap and nearly exfoliating her skin off, traces of the half moustache were still visible.

"Sorry, Rae, but if it's any consolation, you're still a prettier girl than Sammy!" Dean finally apologised when Emily wouldn't stop glaring at him.

Emily didn't want to laugh, she really didn't, and she almost succeeded in not doing so, but then she caught the look that Sam gave Dean. And she cracked up and couldn't stop laughing.

Without them noticing the time, dusk crept upon them finding them having an impromptu karaoke session that had started during a quickly abandoned poker game when Emily had won a hand and had cheekily began singing 'Pay me my money down' by Bruce Springsteen. Dean had started singing too, then Emily who never needed much prompting had began to play her guitar, and finally, Sam had joined in, a little self consciously at first, but quickly getting into it, especially when they transitioned into 'End of the line' by the Traveling Wilburys.

The three of them wound down eventually, deciding to call it a day. A wonderful, easygoing day. As they secured the house, Dean informed his siblings that even though they were technically on holiday, they'd have drills starting the next morning. Neither one objected. Bidding Emily goodnight and getting a hearty reply, the brothers went to their room, both resisting the urge to remind her to salt her window and door.

Unfortunately, the blitheness of their day did not translate to Sam and Emily's dreams. Sam's nightmare woke him first. He sat up in his bed taking measured breaths until his heartbeat steadied. Knowing returning to sleep was out of the question at least for a while, he quietly left the room and went downstairs. In the den, without turning on any lights, he turned on the stereo keeping the volume very low and the music mellow. It had actually began lulling him to sleep when he heard the soft groan of that one creaky step that Bobby kept meaning to replace but never did.

Emily came awake with a gasp and was out of her bed and her room and at the door of her brothers' room without really registering it. Just before she burst in, logic took over. It wouldn't do to wake them over a nightmare, it certainly wasn't the first and wasn't likely to be the last. Dropping the hand that had been reaching for the door, she trudged wearily downstairs and into the den. She'd gone two steps into the room when Sam spoke.

"Bad dream?"

Emily yelped. "What the hell are you sitting in the dark for?" she asked querulously.

Sam chuckled. "For the same reason you didn't turn on the light!"

"I was going to!" she lied.

"Liar!" Sam laughed. "You're too far into the room for that to have been an intention."

Emily grumbled incoherently, shuffled further into the room, towards Sam's voice and sat down on the far end of the couch he was seated on. Neither said anything for a long time, the low music the only sound in the room, the darkness surprisingly comforting.

"How did you guess?" Emily spoke so suddenly, it made Sam jump slightly.

"Guess what?"

"That I'd had a bad dream?"

There was a beat of silence. "I had one too!"

"Oh!" was all Emily could say.

More silence followed. "You wanna talk about it?" Sam asked.

"No! Not really! You?"

"Not really!"

They settled into silence again, with Emily humming along to the music.

"Sometimes I see my dad!" she broke off her humming suddenly.

"What?" Sam startled.

"My dad. In the dreams. My dad is in a pit of fire … and he's burning, but he's not … not really, I mean he's not burning into ash or anything like that, but he's in pain ... terrible pain, and the worst part is, I can't reach him, no matter how I try. And I try, Sam, I try real hard. But I can't save him. He calls for me, begs me to save him, and I can't!" her voice hitched in distress and she paused to compose herself.

Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Simple man' started playing; the song creating a perfect backdrop to the memories running through Emily's head. Memories of her father. He'd been a constant, gentle presence her whole life. A tear spilled down her face. She wiped it away impatiently. Another took its place, and soon a torrent of tears was flowing down her face. She cried quietly, not wanting to be comforted.

Her voice was raspy and clogged when she next spoke. "He was a good man, kind and gentle… he never hurt anyone. He couldn't even use a fly swatter! But he's being punished, being hurt! Because of me! I'm the reason he's in hell! I'm the reason he and mom died! I wish they hadn't adopted me!" she finished on a slightly plaintive wail.

"Rae …" Sam began.

Emily cut him off, "No, Sam," she began in a don't even try voice, "don't! Don't say it's not my fault. I may not have killed them, but no matter which way you slice it, I'm to blame." She took a deep breath then declared forcefully, and determinedly, the tears dried, replaced by grit. "I know I can't bring them back from the dead, but I won't stop trying to get my father out of hell ... my biological mom and grandfather too!"

Sam felt a surge of pride for her, how she refused to be broken, but he also wanted to rail against her, tell her it wasn't her fault, because it really wasn't. However, he realised she didn't need that now. He decided to focus on her other statement. "We'll help you get them out! Dean and I. We'll do everything in our power." he said feelingly.

When she spoke, there was urgency in her voice, and fear that hadn't been there before. "No! I don't want you to help!" she exclaimed.

"Rae!" Sam couldn't get any other words out. He had always thought his sister was over confident, but this was ridiculous. How could she think she could do this alone?

"Sam …" her voice shook and she took a steadying breath. "I said I see my dad sometimes, but ... but most times it's you or Dean!" Regardless of the steadying breath, Emily's voice still came out as a horrified whisper.

"Uh?"

"I see you and Dean burning." Despite her best efforts, her voice broke on the next words. "I don't want to lose you! I don't want anyone else to die because of me." This time the tears weren't silent. She had internalised the nightmares for too long! The horror and fear exploded in noisy heartfelt sobs.

In the darkness, Sam swallowed a lump and reached out for her; she drew back. Stunned, he thought back, and realised with a pang that this had started that night in Greenville when the curse Connor put on Dean had lifted. The lifting process had been scary, with Dean spasming horrifically then going deathly still. Sam remembered how terrified he and Emily had been. In retrospect he could understand why it was then that Emily's nightmares had started starring him and Dean, because it was on that hunt that she'd realised that Dean, and therefore Sam by extension, was not indestructible.

He didn't know what to do. It had been relatively easy to comfort Emily after Keith's death. The parameters then had been different; the guilt she had felt about Keith had not had time to fester and he had been a stranger. This time however, the guilt had grown into a monster of self-condemnation, and family was involved. Sam didn't know how exactly it would help her, he didn't even know why he did it, but he found himself telling her about his own guilt.

"My mom died to save me … twice! The first time I was a baby, so obviously I don't remember it, but she went up in flames again to destroy the poltergeist in our old house. She destroyed her spirit to save me."

"And Dean!" Emily hiccoughed. She knew some of what had happened that night.

"Yeah, but Dean had made it outside and only returned to get me out! He could have died because of me. My mom did, so did Jess. I am a curse."

"No you're not!" Emily dissented. Her high opinion of her brother easily surpassing her sense of guilt and emotional breakdown.

"Then I'm cursed!" Sam argued.

"You're not cursed, Sam, and no, you are not a curse either! All the bad stuff that happened was not your fault!"

A long tense silence followed the heated words. Then suddenly, Emily sniffed then chuckled a little sheepishly. "The two of us are a couple of dramatic hypocrites, aren't we?" she said.

Sam thought about her statement for a moment then laughed abashedly, "I guess we are! Okay, I promise I won't blame myself all the time, if you promise not to be unjustly hard on yourself!"

"Fair enough!"

"Great! Shake on it?"

This time, Emily laughed gaily and a hand reached out and hit Sam in the chest. He groaned theatrically and took it. They shook on their mutual promise. After the hand shake, Emily folded her legs underneath herself and wrapped her arms around herself.

Sam broke the silence this time. "Well, since you told me about your nightmares, it's only fair I tell you about mine."

"You don't have to if you don't want to!" Emily said mildly.

"I … I don't know!" There was a long moment of hesitation, then he continued, steeling himself with a deep breath. "My nightmares used to be about Jess, but now, every night, the person I watch bleeding and burning on that ceiling is you!" his voice broke a little here and he coughed to compose himself. "And I can't do anything to stop it!"

Emily's heart constricted in compassion for her brother. Unlike hers, his nightmares had basis in experienced reality. He'd actually watched his girlfriend die. His feelings of helplessness were real.

Sam didn't confess the rest, 'You look at me with eyes dulled with anguish and sorrow, and when I wake up, it takes everything I have, for me not to throw up!' He didn't tell her how he'd dreamt about Jessica's death for weeks before it had happened. He couldn't tell her because he didn't know whether Emily featuring in his dreams now was just his mind's melodramatic way of manifesting his ever present fear for his sister's safety, or whether it was a premonition. He honestly thought it was the former, since her appearance in the dreams had only began after Bobby's call about reavers, but he wasn't so sure.

"I'm sorry about Jess. It must have been horrible." Emily said softly.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I miss her." he said just as quietly.

Yeah, it never went away; she missed her parents too. Probably would all her life, but maybe with a less intensity as time went by. So yes, she understood Sam's pain, and she unfurled herself and scooted closer to him. She wrapped her arms as much as she could round his larger body and lay her head on his shoulder, giving comfort even as she received it.

After almost ten minutes, she spoke. "Sam?" she sounded sleepy.

"Mmm?" he sounded even sleepier.

"We're totally going to suck at drills!"

Sam chuckled sleepily. "Yep! Dean is going to kick our asses!"


	7. Chapter 6

For the next four days they fell into an easy rhythm. Brutal morning drills were followed by breakfast with casual chatter, then they'd prepare a meal together, after which each did as he or she pleased. Dean usually worked on the impala or cleaned the weapons, while Sam and Emily either joined him, or read or talked or worked in her small garden, or cleaned. The three of them would then eat lunch together, usually in front of the TV, then they'd return to their individual activities. Dinner consisted of leftovers and was usually accompanied by lively debate, and teasing after which they played a game which usually degenerated into spirited sparring or karaoke. They'd then turn in for the night.

Their physical wounds healed, and the emotional ones began to close as well; the nightmares that haunted Sam and Emily slowly reduced in intensity and frequency as the two of them watched over and kept each other in check. Everything was going on swimmingly, which made the unexpected attack the more shocking.

In the gathering dusk of the fifth evening, it was a stroke of luck that Emily even noticed the slight movement to her left. Knowing there shouldn't be anyone there, she looked up and gasped involuntarily. Standing next to the copse was a huge wolf. She blinked. A wolf? Here in Sioux falls? No way! Had Dean somehow spiked her juice? But she knew she was not hallucinating or tripping, and no matter how many times she blinked and shook her head, that was a wolf. "Werewolf!" her mind supplied further. That was impossible! It was 6 pm! And even though that qualified as evening, it was a summer evening and though the light was fading, there was still enough to see by. Besides, there wasn't a full moon tonight. Didn't werewolves require one in order to change? Or was that a myth? Well, regardless of whether it was a werewolf or a normal wolf, it certainly wasn't imaginary and she needed to get on her feet. She remembered vaguely that some animals were wary of a standing human because of the projected height. Mmmm, probably not wolves, but standing, she had better chances of defending herself. She discreetly slipped off her flip flops and then stood quickly, getting into a crouch first before vaulting onto her feet, never once taking her eyes off the animal. It stood there, completely still, watching her movements.

The distance between her and the house was small but she knew she wouldn't make it if she made a run for it. She really hoped this was an ordinary wolf because the gun she had on her was loaded with regular rounds. She'd almost not even carried one, having thought it would be a quick dash to the garden and back. As she reached into her jacket for the gun, the wolf began to move, probably some natural instinct telling it how dangerous a firearm could be.

In an unnatural burst of speed it was in front of her crouching and springing. She aimed and pulled the trigger, once, twice. They were beautiful shots if she said so herself, both catching the animal square through the chest. The wolf was knocked slightly back from the blasts of the bullets, but that was all the damage the rounds did. Fuck! This was indeed a werewolf. Could life be any suckier than it was right now?

Emily dropped and rolled away but the animal still managed to complete its attack, having only been slowed down by the bullets. Its claws glanced off her waist, taking more cloth than flesh, but enough flesh to still hurt. She sucked in a hiss of pain, and let go of her gun even though it was against everything she'd been taught by everyone who had ever trained her. It was of no use to her, anyway. Coming out of the roll as quickly as the full length gypsy shirt she was wearing could allow, she got into a defensive crouch. She quickly retrieved the punch dagger from her calf knife holster. Ornamental and pretty, it looked and felt inconsequential against such a huge animal, but it was the only silver she had.

Panting, she tensed for the next attack. She knew her brothers had to have heard the shots, and if she could hold off the wolf long enough, maybe she would survive this attack. As if sensing the significance of the knife, the wolf growled, the sound making Emily's toes curl, then it launched itself off the ground. Emily anticipated the move accurately, but without bullets impeding its movement, the creature was faster this time. Emily grunted as her side took a much harder and deeper hit from the wolf's claws and she grunted again as her roll put the wounds in contact with the ground. She wasn't fast enough this time because even as she got out of the roll, the wolf was already springing. The only thought in her head was not to let its teeth anywhere near her throat. She only had time to throw up her left arm in defence. Her head hit the ground, the flash of pain travelling to the base of her neck. The wolf's teeth bit down on her arm, all the way to the bone, its jaw crushing the bone. Emily's cry of pain rent the air. The wolf shook her. She tried to hold in the second cry but failed. The pain threatened to take her under, the tears that filled her eyes and flowed over her cheeks blinded her. Nausea roiled through her, and she fought it down, because pinned as she was, chances of chocking on her own vomit were high. And that was not a very dignified way to go. Black spots began to gather in front of her eyes. She dimly heard the sounds of gunshots, and dully wondered whether there were more wolves and whether her brothers were fine.

With sheer force, she blinked away the larger dark spots and drew up her right hand. She was grateful it hadn't been pinned by the wolf. She knew squat about the anatomy of a wolf, but as the animal crushed her, it's eyes gleaming with murderous intent, she felt its heart beat. To improve the strike, she had to push back the wolf with her injured left arm, the pain of the movement almost making her pass out. Then she buried the dagger in the animal's chest, its blood leaking past the blade, and onto her chest, the metallic smell making her gag.

The wolf raised its head and howled. The sound drowning out Emily's own slowly weakening sobs of anguish. The bite had been agony, but as the wolf brought its head up to bay its dying howl, it had torn up her arm, and the pain was excruciating. The wolf morphed into a naked man as it died. Emily's last, remarkably lighthearted thought before the darkness mercifully claimed her was, "Kinky!"

* * *

><p>When the shit hit the fan, each brother thought Emily was with the other. The three had spent most of the morning sparring and training then after having showers and lunch, each had drifted to different activities. Sam had settled down with a book in the study and his siblings after teasing him about becoming pasty had gone outside. Dean to continue with his car repairs, which entailed sanding the roof, and Emily with her guitar and a book. She'd settled herself by her adopted tree where she had alternated between scribbling in her book and plucking her guitar. At about 4 pm she'd gone into the house and returned with two beers, a soda, two packets of chips and Sam. The three of them had sat on the porch with their drinks, and Emily and Sam had hounded Dean about why he didn't spray orange flames or some such nonsense on the impala. He'd called them idiots of course. He'd never desecrate his baby like that. After an hour or so, Emily and Sam had gone back indoors. And Dean had returned to his sanding.<p>

When they'd gone inside the house, Emily and Sam had sat down to watch a documentary, but when it ended, she'd decided to forego the next one. She'd wandered from the den and into the kitchen looking for something to eat, then she'd been hit with a sudden compulsion to cook. It would be a late meal, but she and her brothers did not exactly have a proper mealtime timetable. Looking through the cupboards, she'd decided to make jumbo since the kitchen held nearly all the ingredients. The only thing missing was tomatoes, and those she could get from her garden that Bobby, despite his complete lack of a green thumb, had somehow managed to maintain in her absence. She'd slipped through the kitchen door.

When she'd left the den, Sam had assumed she'd gone outside to keep Dean company.

In the meantime, content with the progress he'd made, Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, locked the impala and walked up the stairs to the porch. A metallic thump made him whip around. When he saw the wolf on top of the tottering pile of junk cars, his heart beat wildly, not in fear, but in hot anger and irritation. This was their downtime and their home, it wasn't fair for work to follow them here. Raised a hunter, Dean didn't even consider the possibility that the wolf might not be a werewolf. He ripped the front door open and practically flung himself inside, before slamming it shut.

Sam knew something was wrong even before he heard Dean yell.

Remembering the recent depletion of their own arsenal, Dean called urgently, "Sam! Get down to the armoury, see if Bobby's got any silver bullets! Rae, get your ass down to the panic room and don't you dare give me lip, I'm only asking because we might not have enough ammunition to go around."

While Sam raced downstairs to the armoury, Dean took the stairs to their room to get their guns and flashlights. The brothers met in the study. Sam had found four bullets, making their total haul five.

"What is it?" he asked Dean as he handed him three of the bullets.

"A wolf. Quite likely a were!"

"That's imp …" The sound of gunshots cut him off. The brothers exchanged looks. "Who's that?" Sam wondered.

"The hell would I know, let's go." Dean said curtly. Sam knew his brother's anger was not directed at him.

They turned the lights off, so that by the time they'd get to the door, their eyes would be accustomed to the light of the flashlights. Dean slowly eased the door open, his body strumming with adrenaline. He quickly whipped his light over the car tower where he'd last seen the wolf. It was gone. He stepped out carefully, Sam following closely.

An anguished scream tore the silence, followed nearly immediately by a second less loud one. "Rae!" both brothers whispered in horror. Neither had ever heard their sister scream like that, and each one's heart threatened to burst through his chest.

They didn't have time to dwell on that though, because movement from both sides of the porch and from the roof drew their attention. They turned fluidly and seamlessly, Dean to the left, Sam to the right. Back to back, they aimed and fired. Two wolves hit the deck without reaching their marks.

Dean knew that trying to change direction and pivot left would waste precious time, and possibly throw him off centre, so he let his momentum continue to carry him right. He quickly shoved Sam out of the way, and continued moving until he was in a suitable position. He planted his feet, and adopted a slight crouch because the animal already in mid leap was by then too close. He drew his arm slightly towards his body, aimed and fired.

Carried by its momentum, the dying wolf landed on Dean. He hit his head on the deck, the impact making him see stars which he closed his eyes against.

"Dean?" Sam called. His voice filled with urgency and fear.

"Get it off me!" Dean groaned, not bothering to move. His brother's breathy but cheeky, "Don't you mean him!" comment made him snap his eyes open. Sprawled on top of him was a naked man. "Fuck!" Dean grumbled as he shoved the man off and staggered to his feet.

"You need a room for that!" Sam quipped. Dean glared at him. He bent his knees and rested his hands on them for a moment. "You okay?" Sam asked, concern stealing his witticism away.

Dean nodded. "Just winded." He was glad to see that despite his teasing voice, Sam was still vigilant, his gun held loosely, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

As soon as Dean got his bearings and straightened up, they raced to the side of the house where they'd heard Emily's screams come from. Neither wanted to dwell on the implications of the silence that had followed.

Their steps faltered when they saw the bodies on the ground. "Please God!" Dean breathed, the short prayer desperate and heartfelt. They covered the distance in a mad dash.

With a low growl, Dean tore the dead man away from Emily while Sam crashed onto his knees by her side, and shone his flashlight down. He was elated when he found a faint pulse, but his heart stuttered in horror when he saw Emily's arm.

"Is she …" Dean's voice caught. He couldn't finish the question. He didn't want to ask, but in his heart of hearts he knew that their beautiful, spunky, vivacious sister was no more. It killed him that she had died, alone and scared in the dirt. How could he have let this happen? He was her big brother. He was supposed to protect her.

Sam thinking that Dean was asking whether Emily had been bitten answered 'yes'.

"No!" Dean's cry was filled with sorrow and anger. He hit the ground on his knees, grabbed Emily and cradled her. "Oh God, Mimi, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" he whispered, his tears soaking her hair.

Sam swallowed the panic he felt. He'd figuratively found himself captaining a massive ship whose formidable captain, a man who never relinquished control to anyone, had suddenly handed it to him. Dean could always be counted on to function in a crisis, especially when it involved his siblings. If he ever fell apart, he did so in private. Well, not today. He had uncharacteristically broken down. So now it was up to Sam to handle the situation. He was worried about Emily bleeding to death, and the likelihood of there being more wolves; it was unprecedented but so was werewolves attacking at this time without a full moon in sight.

To solve the most immediate problem, Sam used his shirt and Dean's flashlight to apply a tourniquet to Emily's arm. It would stop the bleeding and hopefully keep the venom from spreading.

Next he needed to get himself, Dean and Emily back into the house, and into the panic room, because while the house was heavily protected and warded, the panic room was completely supernatural proof, so they wouldn't get any nasty surprises down there. He hoped Dean would have snapped out of it by then, so he could help patch up Emily. Then there was also the issue of the four dead werewolves who were now four dead naked men. But as those were not going anywhere that wasn't an urgent concern. Throughout his hunting career, if he could call it that, Sam had never had such uncharitable thoughts before, but at the moment, he just couldn't find it in him to feel compassion for anyone who had tried to kill his sister, no matter whether they had been themselves or not. Maybe he'd feel differently later. Right now, he needed to get Dean moving.

"Dean? Dean, we need to clean out the wound with holy water." Sam's voice was thick with unshed tears, but he spoke calmly even though he felt far from calm. He knew the holy water probably wouldn't stop the werewolf scourge on Emily, but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

Sam's words filtered slowly into Dean's mind, and when they did, he thought Sam had lost it. Clean out the wound? Why bother, when she was already dead? "It doesn't matter, Sammy," he said sadly, "she's …" He couldn't say gone. That would make it real. He refused to acknowledge it.

Sam couldn't believe Dean would condemn their sister just because she'd been bitten by a werewolf. "Jesus, Dean! She's still our sister! She's still Rae!" he exclaimed in horror. At least for now anyway, his mind added. "Come on Dean, let's go!"

"Fine!" Dean said dully, his brother's intense insistence the only reason he was complying.

As Dean shifted to get up, Emily groaned. Consciousness returning but quickly beaten back by the pain radiating from her arm and side. That sound was the sweetest thing Dean had ever heard.

"Did you hear that? Sam, she's alive!" Dean's voice was filled with awe and joy.

"I know! Wait … what? You thought she was … shit, Dean!" Sam exclaimed. Dean had thought Emily was dead? That certainly explained his behaviour and comments.

Dean reacted with the urgency and efficiency that Sam had until then been unable to produce in him. He lifted Emily as gently as he could. "Get the guns, Sam, Rae's too. Come on, let's go. And why the hell did you say yes?"

"I thought you were asking if she was bitten!" Sam hassled after Dean, lighting their way with the flashlight and keeping his gun at the ready in case there was another attack. "You know what that means, right?"

"Well, those things weren't exactly held back by the lack of a full moon, so it's possible the other myths are wrong too." Dean tried to convince both himself and his brother. "Besides, this is our sister, so true or not, all that myth stuff means shit!" he added hotly.

Sam was relieved to hear that. Still, he couldn't help but worry about the possibility of Emily being infected.

They entered the house with sighs of relief, which quickly turned into gasps of horror when they saw Emily's injuries in proper light.

"Fuck!" Dean exclaimed as he laid her on the floor.

"This is bad!" Sam whispered.

The claw wounds in Emily's side were relatively manageable; the slashes though deep, would basically just need proper, careful irrigation, stitching and dressing. However, her arm was a different story. Practically mangled, it was way beyond their skill levels. She needed a hospital, but first, they needed to cleanse the bite wound with holy water and pray that was enough. While Sam prepared a basin of holy water, Dean made to loosen the tourniquet but Sam saw him and yelled, "Stop!" in a panicked voice.

"Sam, the bleeding has stopped and her fingers are turning blue. She'll lose her arm!"

"We'll loosen it after the cleansing."

Dean immediately understood Sam's concern and held back. Sam restarted the blessing of the water again since he'd abandoned the process to stop Dean. As he waited, Dean run a hand through Emily's hair and prayed for a miracle. Praying was Sam's thing not Dean's and he wasn't sure he was doing it right, but for his siblings, he'd do anything, even pray to a God he believed in, despite what everyone thought, but one he didn't love.

Sam was already carrying the basin of water over to his siblings even as Dean said Amen.

"Grab a jug or something." Dean ordered as he fished the rosary out of the basin of now the Holy Water. Sam quickly did as he was told, handing the jug to Dean and then bracing Emily's arm under his hands. The brothers glanced briefly at each other, then took steadying breaths. Dean poured three jugs onto the wound before it stopped fizzing. He poured three more just to be sure. When the first jugful of water had cascaded onto her arm, Emily had briefly stirred and whimpered pitifully before losing consciousness again.

"Do you think that will stop it?" Sam asked as Dean finally loosened the tourniquet.

"I don't know!" Dean said truthfully. "But for now, the supernatural issues can wait. She needs more help than we can give her. We've gotta get to a hospital."

Sam carried Emily to the car while Dean, marginally the better shot, covered them. Once securely in the car, Dean squealed out of the yard.

In the back seat, Sam sat with Emily's head cradled on his lap and prayed just as desperately as Dean had before. He couldn't see Emily's face, as it had become too dark for that, but her breathing though impossibly slow and shallow reassured him that she was still alive.

"Sam?" Dean's voice startled him. "Call dad and Bobby and tell them what happened."

"I don't have my phone!"

One handed, Dean reached into the glove box for his back up phone because he too had left his main phone at the house. He handed it to Sam.

Sam called Bobby first, spoke for about ten breathless seconds, listened for a beat and spoke again, more calmly, with more detail. After listening for another moment, he hang up. "He'll be here in five hours, give or take," he reported to Dean, even as he dialled John's number.

Dean heard the silence and knew the call had gone to voicemail and that Sam was listening to the automated message. "Dad, if you get this, can you call us back? Rae is hurt real bad." He hang up. "Voicemail!" he informed Dean unnecessarily.

Dean sighed wearily and drove on.

Two minutes later, Sam's panicked voice shattered the uneasy silence in the car. "Dean, she's fading!" Emily's breaths were becoming more ragged, more laboured, fewer between and further apart. Sam desperately squeezed her hand, trying to infuse his life into her. Dean didn't think he could drive any faster, but he did.

The huge black car squealed to a stop in front of the hospital four minutes later.


	8. Chapter 7

Dean burst through the doors, holding them open so Sam wouldn't be encumbered. Within seconds, there was a gurney in front of the trio, and Emily was being tagged out of Sam's arms.

"What happened?" the triage nurse who seemed to have materialised out of thin air asked as she took and recorded Emily's vitals. The matronly woman worked with a swiftness and an economy of movement that belied her appearance.

"We … we were out for a walk, and got attacked by a dog! There were three of us, but for some reason it went straight for her! We fought it off and we … oh god, it was so big and it had latched on and wouldn't let go! And there was so much blood and she screamed like she was dy … and then she stopped and … Is she going to be okay?" Dean stammered, his words colliding into each other in a breathless way, before trailing off in a warbled panicky plaintive plea. Sam knew the terrified inarticulateness was a deliberate act, but the fact that Dean looked shellshocked and traumatised wasn't. Sam was sure that he looked the same way too. He certainly felt that way.

"She's a category three! Page Dr. Mehta, and Dr. Bluth and clear an O.R. immediately. She's in extreme shock!" the nurse whispered urgently to one of her colleagues, and suddenly the gurney was being bustled away. The brothers strode after it.

Seeing them following, the nurse asked them, "Who is she?"

"Her name is Emily. She's our sister." Sam answered.

"How old is she?"

"Eighteen … almost nineteen. Her birthday's in a month!" Dean sounded anguished knowing that the odds of Emily making it to her birthday were now low.

The nurse's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The injured girl looked younger than eighteen. The nurse had been pretty sure she was dealing with a minor. She knew some siblings, especially those who'd been raised in foster care or raised to be wary of child services, hiked their own ages and if they were old enough and didn't need to lie about their age, they raised the ages of their minor siblings so they wouldn't draw the attention of Child Protection Services. There was a cautiousness and fierce protectiveness about this girl's brothers that gave testimony to this. The nurse decided not to pursue the issue any further, at least not now.

"Blood group?" she asked instead.

"AB."

"Is she allergic to anything?"

"No."

"Did you perform any first aid?"

"We applied a tourniquet." Dean said in a duh voice. Sam resisted the urge to smack him for being disrespectful.

Well, that much the nurse could see. She rolled her eyes and fought the urge to smile at his testiness. The tourniquet was crude, but had been applied correctly and had evidently been effective. And they had even loosened it when the bleeding had slowed down. Obviously these boys were self sufficient.

"Do you know what breed of dog it was?" she asked. It wasn't really a relevant question, but it was listed.

Dean's mouth fell open. "No! It was dark and we were trying to save our sister. We didn't exactly have time to check the animal for identifying features! What does it matter anyway?" Dean answered, his impatience obvious. This time Sam thought his brother's impudence was completely justified.

Realising that the only reason the men were still behaving civilly was because they didn't want to jeopardise their sister's care, the nurse spoke quickly. "If we know the breed, we can determine how deep the damage goes. Besides, Animal Control will want to know."

"Screw Animal control. All we're concerned about is Emily!" Dean growled. "The damage to her arm pretty much speaks for itself, I don't think you need a dog to make teeth moulds and compare dental impressions!"

The nurse had never been so happy to see the doors that led to the trauma department. The brothers made to follow their sister beyond the doors, but the nurse gently but firmly held them back. "Sorry, but you cant go beyond this point. We're going to need you to stay behind and provide us with more information."

"Hey, listen! It's critical that the ring she's wearing isn't taken off! Please! Tape it or something, but don't take it off!" Dean yelled after the disappearing group.

"I'll relay that to the attending!" the nurse hollered back, unable to ignore such an impassioned appeal, even though it was rather unusual. But she took it in stride because it wasn't the weirdest or most unreasonable request she'd heard in her years as a nurse.

Then the doors closed behind her. Sam and Dean stared through the glass until the gurney carrying their sister disappeared from their sight. They finally turned to find a tiny nurse hovering timidly with a sheaf of papers and instructions to wait until there was news. They could understand the woman's reservations, after all, they were two huge men, bloodied and wild-eyed. They took the papers and found seats in the crowded emergency room. Sam began to fill in the documents, his hand shaking badly. Dean stared unseeingly into the distance.

"I thought she was with you!" Sam finally croaked out.

"I've got to go move the car." Dean said in a flat voice, standing up. "If you're not sure about anything, leave it blank, I'll fill it in." with that he strode away.

Sam briefly closed his eyes, and willed away the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. He couldn't help feeling this was all his fault. He should have kept an eye on Emily. He should have realised she'd not joined Dean when she'd left the study. And he knew Dean blamed him too. His brother was always quick to assure him he wasn't at fault, but not today.

Dean returned five minutes later and sat down next to his brother. Sam handed over the papers even though Dean hadn't asked for them. Because he was the better bullshitter of the two, Dean usually did the paperwork at hospitals, filling them with half-truths and downright lies. He'd let Sam do it this time, a baptism of fire sort of thing, and trusted him enough not to check over his work. However, it seemed Sam wasn't yet confident of his ability, which was weird because he'd handled things expertly when Dean had been electrocuted.

Dean perused through the papers quickly, approving of the information Sam had put down. He handed them back and Sam went to the desk to return them to the timid nurse. He must have said something funny because she trilled a laugh and waved him away fondly. Dean idly wondered what that had been about. However, he didn't ask when Sam returned and took his seat again. The brothers sat in silence once more, each lost in his thoughts.

Sam broke the silence half an hour later. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I should have looked out for her!" he spoke, the guilt weighing unbearably on him.

Dean sighed. Emotionally, he was all tapped out, he was practically flagging, but his brother needed him and he had to dig deep to look for the right words to comfort Sam. However, before he could speak, the back up phone still in Sam's possession rang. Both of them startled, having since forgotten about it. Retrieving it from the pocket he'd stashed it in, Sam looked at the screen, "It's Dad." Dean took the phone from him and hurried outside.

John was calling from Georgia. He'd earlier let the call from Dean's backup phone go to voicemail, because he had been in the company of Gordon Walker, a hunter he didn't really trust outside of hunting. It was almost three hours before he got a chance to check his messages, and his heart stuttered when he heard the message Sam had left. The unveiled fear in his son's voice scared John even more. Sam was passionate, and given to strong emotions, but like the Winchester he was, he rarely showed fear.

Questions raced through John's mind. Only a week had passed since he'd last seen his children. What the hell could have happened? They'd been heading to Bobby's, hadn't they? Had they stumbled upon a hunt? Had they been ambushed? Were his boys hurt too and only downplaying their injuries like they were wont to? He didn't know how badly Emily was hurt, but the fear in Sam's voice didn't exactly spell good news. John wanted to rail at God. It wasn't fair! Hadn't he lost enough already? His wife? His easygoing, uncomplicated lifestyle? The trust of his sons? Now he was going to lose his only daughter too? A child he had only just found! It wasn't fair! But then again, when had anything in his life been fair? It was like someone or something out there wanted to see how much he could endure before he broke. Well, tough luck, because he wasn't going to break, not any time soon. He was made of sterner stuff. He'd watched his wife die, unable to save her, and the sorrow he'd felt had almost taken him under, but he'd weathered through and raised his sons. Granted, he hadn't done the best of jobs, but it was mostly because of him that his boys were alive, and able to look after themselves.

He hadn't raised his daughter, he hadn't had any impact on her upbringing, but he knew she was strong. She had his blood in her veins after all. She was a Winchester, and Winchesters were damn scrappers. Stubborn and resilient, they never gave up, even when the odds weren't in their favour. So he knew Emily would fight to stay alive. She'd give it her all to survive. And her brothers would fiercely fight right along with her. The three of them would be fine without him. He almost convinced himself no tot return the call, but he had promised himself he would be a better parent, and surely, his sons wouldn't have called him if the situation wasn't dire.

With his heart still beating unevenly, he called Dean's phone. Hearing the automated message, he hang up and tried Sam's phone. He got voicemail again and this time, he growled in frustration at the automated message. Now he had an inkling of how his sons felt when they called him and got his voicemail all the time. He'd appreciate the irony if he wasn't so worried. As he began to feel the stirrings of real unadulterated panic, he realised the boys had used their backup phone to call him in the first place. He placed the call to that phone and was relieved when Dean answered.

"Dean? What happened?" he asked without preamble.

"Rae got bitten."

"What? Is she okay?"

"It's bad, dad … she's in surgery. Eerr, dad, it was a werewolf." Even though he was outside, Dean still whispered the last part, in case there was an eavesdropper. The last thing they needed was to be thrown into a psych ward.

"That's not possible Dean! The full moon isn't until two weeks!"

Dean, who was tired, worried and slightly hungry, spoke more impertinently than planned. "No offence dad, we shot wolves, but I'm pretty certain they died as men. So screw your full moon theory!"

John was stunned into a temporary silence by Dean's words and tone. "Is she exhibiting any signs?" he finally recovered and asked. He didn't know what he'd do if his daughter turned into one of the creatures he hunted. It was strange that as a hunter, it was a scenario he'd never imagined, not even for his sons.

"She's not magically healing if that's what you're asking. That's why she's in surgery!" Dean bit out. "Uhh, Sam put a tourniquet in place, and we cleaned out the wound with holy water."

"Think that stopped it?" John asked anxiously.

Dean sighed. It was him, not John who should be seeking reassurance. After all, John was the parent. "I don't know, dad. Maybe. We called Bobby. He's likely to know." Dean answered wearily. He was more than ready for the world to be lifted off his shoulders.

John felt a jolt of unwarranted jealousy hearing his son mention Bobby, but he tamped down on the useless emotion. Bobby was one of the most knowledgeable hunters out there, and he had one of the most extensive collection of books about religion, the occult and anything supernatural. John told himself that those were the reasons Dean wanted Bobby there. It wasn't because Bobby was a better father to them than John had ever been. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. Depending on what route he used, the trip would take between nineteen to twenty-one hours.

"Sure dad. See you." Dean hang up. He briefly rubbed his temples, and slumped against the wall. After a minute or so, he squared his shoulders and went back inside the hospital.

"So?" Sam asked when his brother walked up to him.

"He will be here as soon as he can."

"Where's he heading out from?" Sam was sceptic. Their father had a knack of putting them second after a hunt. Sam wasn't going to hold his breath for the man's arrival. As far as he was concerned, when it came to John, expectation always led to disappointment.

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask." Dean shrugged. Then he nodded towards the vending machine. "Want anything?" Sam shook his head. Dean got himself a coffee. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach anything else, even though he was hungry. He drank the coffee by the machine, finishing it in two swallows, then with a tense almost angry motion, he crumpled the cup before flicking it into a trashcan. Then he walked back and sat next to his brother.

He knew he had left Sam hanging for too long so this time he didn't let the silence grow. "Sammy, it wasn't your fault!" he spoke quietly.

Sam smiled grimly. This was the reassurance he'd wanted from Dean, but it sounded hollow. Like Dean had realised what Sam needed to hear and had said it automatically without really meaning it. Well, Sam was now an adult and he knew he had to take responsibility for his failures. "Yes, Dean, it was my fault. She was with me. And when she left the study, I simply assumed she was coming outside to hang out with you, but I should have asked her where she was going or gone with her."

"Hey man, you couldn't have known! Besides, we were at Bobby's, we all let our guards down a little, thankfully not completely, or else Rae wouldn't have had weapons on her and would be dead. I still can't believe she took down that thing with just that knife!" Dean briefly allowed awe at his sister's indomitability to prevail over his current fear for her life.

"She still got bit!" No matter how he tried, Sam couldn't find the silver lining in the moment.

Immediately, Dean's awe changed into sad grimness. He heaved a put on sigh and continued. "Yeah, well, even if we hadn't let down our guards, there's no way we could have seen this shit coming! There's no full moon and Sioux Falls is hardly a breeding ground for wolves let alone werewolves. Even leaving out the fact that we haven't heard of any other attacks, until ours, this was just uncharacteristic. Besides, as much as we'd like to, we can't shadow Rae every single second of every day. For one, she'd never let us, and two it's just not possible. No matter how I look at it, I don't see how this is your fault."

Silence settled between them as Sam absorbed the words.

"It wasn't your fault either," he spoke after a while. He knew that even though Dean had absolved him, he'd still blame himself.

Dean's answer was a soft sigh.

Once again, the brothers lapsed into silence.

Bobby meanwhile was already on the road. By the time Sam, his voice breathy and only a few decibels short of hysterical, had called, Bobby had already been in La Crosse, Wisconsin way longer than he'd intended. Getting information out of the locals was like pulling teeth cased in concrete and he was getting frustrated. Still, he was willing to see the hunt through. That plan had changed when Sam called, sounding scared, frantic and much younger than his 22 years. Bobby soon understood why; Emily had been bitten by a werewolf. Bobby couldn't fathom the presence of a werewolf before a full moon, but he didn't question the almost hysterical hunter. A frisson of fear and despair speared his own heart at the news, but he reassured the second youngest Winchester and promised to be there in five hours. He knew he could make it in four if he left immediately, but it was his duty before he left to make sure that someone would take over his hunt. When he hang up, he made a number of calls until he got Rita Reswick, a competent enough hunter, to promise to come down and finish the hunt in La Crosse. Then he began his journey home.


	9. Chapter 8

"What the hell is taking so long?" Dean finally exploded. They'd been waiting for three hours, and hadn't gotten any news about Emily.

Sam was surprised that his brother had kept his cool this long. Though an unwelcome distraction, the animal control guy that had come to interview them an hour ago had nevertheless taken their minds off Emily for those fifteen minutes he'd been with them. Sam admitted that the two of them had been rather obnoxious. Finding the man's questions irrelevant, impertinent and annoying, they'd given short, curt and increasingly insolent answers. The man had finally huffed in exasperation and left with an incomplete report.

Now, Sam shrugged, unaffected by his brother's show of temper, knowing it was due to frustration and wasn't directed at him or anyone in particular. "You saw her arm, Dean. That wasn't a cleanse and suture kind of wound," he spoke reasonably.

"I know, but still!" Dean barked out. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly and spoke dolefully. " Sam, for all we know she's dead or dying. I hate not knowing!"

"Me too" Sam admitted with a sigh. "But in this case, no news is good news. It means she's still alive. She's still fighting."

"Yeah well, waiting is a bitch!" Dean grumbled wryly.

"Don't I know it!" Sam managed a chuckle despite the lead lodged in his heart.

After that, Dean became more fidgety than he'd been, playing a nervous tattoo on his thighs, humming distractedly, then standing up and pacing, only returning when the need to be in close proximity with his brother overpowered his agitation.

Twenty minutes of this and Sam was about ready to dropkick his brother.

"Masterson?"

Sam looked up to see two doctors standing near the nurses' station. The female doctor was clearly of Indian descent. She was small, and pretty, with delicate features in a heart shaped face. The male doctor was a burly man with hair that was more orange than red and freckles all over his face. Sam could only imagine how miserable the man's school days had been. "Dean? That's us!" he called his brother who had veered away during his pacing. Together they walked to where the doctors were standing.

The female spoke, her words clipped and precise. "I'm Dr. Mehta, and this is Dr. Bluth. We are your sister's doctors."

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean." They shook hands with the doctors.

"Dr. Mehta is an orthopaedic surgeon. She's one of the best." Dr. Bluth's crush on his coworker was hard to miss.

Ignoring her colleague's praise, Dr. Mehta launched into her idea of a condensed, lay man language version of the procedures they had carried out to save Emily's life and arm, though the arm was not expected to regain full normal functionality. Sam tried to follow what was being said, but Dean immediately switched off. His eyes glazed over and he had that faraway look that was typical of a person that was only waiting for their chance to speak. Indeed as soon as the woman finished her exposition, he asked, "Can we see her?"

"Of course! But she's out of it so it really won't make much difference." the curt doctor said already turning away. She was definitely a proponent for the 'people in comas hear nothing' theory.

Sam elbowed Dean when he saw him preparing to snark back. Dean glared at his brother, but he closed his mouth and with an eye roll followed the doctors.

Like Dr. Mehta had said, Emily was out of it. Though stable, she was drugged to the gills. A tetanus booster and a rabies vaccine had already been administered by injection, and morphine had been introduced through an IV after the anaesthesia had worn off. She had received two and a half units of blood and several litres of isotonic crystalloid. She was also receiving intravenous antibiotics to combat infection.

Her arm had an external fixator attached, the surgical rig looking more ominous than it really was. Also, since primary closure of the wound was out of the question, given the severity of the injury, it had been lightly packed with damp saline gauze and covered with a dry dressing. The packing and the dressing had to be changed whenever the outer dressing became damp with blood or anything else. The brothers were allowed to stay as long as they got out of the nurses' way during the changing of the dressing. The boys were more than willing to oblige. The wound would be closed in two or three days after the doctors were satisfied there was no risk of infection. The wounds on her torso had already been stitched and bandaged.

A cute nurse, with eyes mostly for Sam gave them scrub shirts so they could get out of their bloody clothes. Dean idly wondered what it was about Sam that made women want to 'mother' him. He was a hulking giant for heaven's sake, these women should be treating him like a fucking Viking warrior who could protect them! Or snap them in two! Dean supposed it was Sam's damn puppy eyes. Too bad Dean didn't have a pair of those, and he currently wasn't inclined to flash his charming smile.

In the next hour and a half, Emily semi-woke twice, both times cussing creatively, but making no sense otherwise. Still, despite all the muddled nonsense she sprouted, her brothers couldn't be happier. Delirious was better than dead, on any given day.

* * *

><p>Even though he badly wanted to, Bobby did not drive to the hospital. Instead he drove to his salvage yard. He knew from Sam's call that the brothers hadn't gotten a chance to clean up, and despite being out of the way, the yard still managed to get visitors occasionally. It wouldn't do for someone to show up and find dead bodies littering his property. That was a sure way to get locked up for life, and he was too old for jail.<p>

He turned his headlights off at the gate to the yard; he didn't want to alert anyone or anything that might be sniffing around. Rumsfeld whimpered and scratched at the car's door handle, and when Bobby opened the door, the dog took off to the side of the house. Bobby armed himself and followed his dog more cautiously. Rumsfeld was pawing the ground about a metre away from a dead man. Immediately Bobby knew what had agitated the dog; Rumsfeld could smell Emily. That was where she had fallen, where her blood had soaked into the earth. Since Rumsfeld wasn't acting hyperaware, Bobby knew there was no imminent threat. He turned and shone his light at the dead man.

It shook Bobby to see that the man's mouth slackened in death, had blood and bits of flesh in it. That was Emily's blood, her flesh. Any doubts that Bobby had been entertaining about the attack having been carried out by werewolves, vanished at the sickening sight of the man's mouth.

If Bobby had to hazard a guess, he'd say this guy was not older than thirty five. He had been in great shape, had probably worked out twice or thrice a week, nothing excessive but enough to give enviable muscle definition. He was tall too. Bobby could just imagine how huge and powerful he'd been as a wolf. And to think he'd been taken down by a girl with a dagger. A dagger that was even now still buried in his chest. Wrinkling his face in distaste, Bobby pulled out the dagger, wiped it on the grass and tucked it in his belt. He said a prayer for the man's soul, because that is what he was now, a man, not a beast.

Picking up Emily's discarded flip flops, Bobby called Rumsfeld to him. During the call Sam had said there had been four wolves. Bobby wondered where the other three had fallen. He had no doubt that they were dead. They couldn't have gone against the Winchesters and made it out alive. He found them on the porch. Silver bullets to the hearts, one each. No wasted bullets, no drawn out death for the unfortunate men. Bobby took a moment to appreciate the excellent marksmanship of John's boys.

Looking at the three men, and with the fourth one's features still fresh in his mind, Bobby easily deduced the men were related. Most likely brothers, given how close the resemblance was. He bowed his head in sorrow and said a prayer for these three as well. Then he headed into the house. He dropped Emily's footwear beside the door and went upstairs, where he grabbed two pairs of bedsheets. Returning to the porch, he wrapped the bodies in the bedsheets then carried them one at a time down the few stairs of the porch. In his ramshackle idea of a garage, he located his battered mechanic's creeper tied a rope to it and used it to relocate the three bodies to where the fourth had fallen. He wrapped up the fourth as well. "I'm too old for this insanity!" he grumbled to himself as he worked, shucking off his jacket and outer shirt as he perspired in exertion. It really was a job for more than one person, but Bobby didn't dare call anyone. Most hunters were black and white sorts, and after helping him get rid of the bodies, they'd be storming the hospital to kill Emily. Even though he knew the chances that Emily was now infected were high, he knew he would never kill her, unless he witnessed her transformation, and even then, he didn't know whether he could. So he worked alone, grumbling and cussing.

Building a pyre, he gave the four unknown men a hunter's funeral. Even though they weren't hunters, they deserved respect. They had been someone's sons, and might even be husbands and fathers. Besides, he doubted they'd signed up to become werewolves. He watched until the fire burnt out, thinking morbidly how he too would one day be consumed by fire like that.

When it was done, he went into the house through the kitchen. There were two basins, a jug and a rosary on the floor. One of the basins had bloody water, the other which was nearly empty had clear water. Bobby smiled grimly. Holy water! The boys could be counted on to keep level heads in a crisis.

He cleaned up the kitchen then went upstairs and had a quick shower to get rid of the sweat and smoke, and blood. He left out food for Rumsfeld, grabbed a huge tome from his library, got in his car and drove to the hospital.

* * *

><p>John parked half a block from Missouri's house and heaved a heavy sigh before stepping out of his truck. When he'd ended the call to Dean, he'd briefly wondered whether his son had finally cracked because of the lifestyle that had been foisted upon him. However, John knew if Dean was to crack, it wouldn't be in such a fashion. So John had packed up his meagre belongings, gotten into his truck and stolen away. His chosen route had taken him through Kansas but it was on a whim and not a premeditated judgement that he'd decided to stop at Missouri's. He needed to know whether what Dean had told him was possible. Despite not being a hunter, Missouri knew as much, or even more, than most hunters. If what Dean said was true, then Missouri might know.<p>

The door was flung open as he reached it. He threw his hands up in a dramatic show of defeat. No matter how he tried, he could never surprise Missouri.

"John!" the woman bear hugged him grinning at his consternation.

He bent slightly and hugged her back just as enthusiastically. It was hard not to love Missouri Moseley. She was one of the very few people John had let into his heart. He even thought of her as the sister he'd never had. He'd never told her that of course, though he figured with her clair-gift she knew. She was kind, sweet, and soft, almost cuddly, but she didn't take any nonsense and refused to suffer fools gladly. When she got angry, she could somehow make her melodic voice sound even scarier than his most intimidating growl. It was an unbelievable talent, one he respected immensely. However, more often than not, she play acted at being angry and stern, and her inclination to wave a wooden spoon like it was a weapon amused him more than it intimidated him.

She drew back from the hug with a slight frown. "Oh John, I'm so sorry!" she empathised. "Come in and wait as I pack."

"What? No! I just wanted to ask you something then leave!"

"I know what you wanted to ask. And the answer is yes. Verumnat don't need a full moon to change. Dean hasn't lost it. That's what bit your daughter."

"Verumnat? What the hell are those?"

"Language, John!" she castigated before continuing. "Verumnat when directly translated from Latin means true born. As you know, werewolves are created by transference of the lycanthrope curse. However, not all werewolves are created this way. There are werewolves that were born as werewolves. These are the verumnat. In appearance, they're just like the others, only they don't have the same lunar limitations and can change form at will. The good news is that they are just as susceptible to silver as their counterparts."

"What? Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it's extremely rare! In fact, most people think it's impossible. First of all, the chances of two werewolves meeting and mating are not as high as you'd think with there being very few of them, since they've been hunted into near extinction. Secondly, as a species, werewolves are pretty much sterile, and even if they weren't, werewolf physiology because of the unnatural circumstances of their creation, can't sustain pregnancy, let alone childbirth. But as you know, the world is full of impossibilities! Verumnat are living werewolf impossibilities."

John considered that for a while then asked the burning question. "Okay, where does that leave Emily?"

"She was bitten, but there's still time to prevent the change. Let me go pack a few things and we'll leave."

"Missouri, you don't have to. I'm sure Bobby will know what to do." John said, not because he doubted Missouri's prowess, but because he was now impatient to be on his way. Missouri was not known for hurrying and he was worried she'd take hours packing.

"You great lout! I can pack fast!" the woman exclaimed in a defensive tone.

Shit! He'd forgotten she could sometimes do that! Damn woman!

"And don't you dare swear at me!" she added.

John sighed and sat down at the kitchen table to wait. Thirty minutes later, he was strumming with frustration. The woman had packed her clothes and toiletries quickly enough, dropping the medium sized case at John's feet, but when she'd started on her herbs, odds, and bits, she had began to dither and dawdle. She'd reach for a tin, mumble something then change her mind and reach for something else. Then she'd go to another room and return with yet another tin.

When she poked her head into the pantry for what he was sure was the hundredth time, John decided he'd had enough. He stood up. "Missouri, if you're not done in the next ten minutes, I'm going without you!" he threatened.

Missouri turned, her nostrils flaring with ire. "John Eric Winchester, you're a fine hunter so you of all people know there is no point in going at all if you're going to go half-cocked! I'm getting things that will help your daughter, so sit yourself down!"

Chastened, and frankly surprised that he let the woman get away with chastising him like a child, John sat.

Missouri hid a smile at his disbelief. "I know you're worried, and you have all the reason in the world to be, but I know what I'm doing. Trust me," she continued more kindly. He smiled wryly at her and her heart as always wrenched at the pain and love, and the fear and determination he carried in his heart. She couldn't help trying to reassure him. "Right now, Emily is alright. Until the full moon comes up, she's still just a girl."

John believed her. She knew better than to sugarcoat things for him, even when she was trying to dispel his fears.

* * *

><p>Back at the hospital, Sam had finally succumbed to sleep, laying his head upon the bed next to Emily's legs. Dean however, couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Emily bloodied and unmoving on the ground. So he sat and kept a hold on both his siblings, the contact comforting him. He felt like he'd lose them if he lost contact with either one. His right hand rested lightly on Sam's nape. He was oblivious to the luxuriant silkiness of his brother's hair that was now longer than John had ever allowed him to keep it, but he was hyper aware of and grateful for his brother's warmth, his life. With his left hand, Dean tightly gripped Emily's right hand. Its slackness scared him even more than the lack of colour in her face. Because of the positions his siblings were in, he had to sit awkwardly to maintain the contact, but it was absolutely worth it.<p>

The door eased open slowly and he looked up warily, tensing his body in preparation for a fight. He was suddenly and painfully aware that he'd let his guard down completely leaving himself and more importantly his siblings exposed. He'd not drawn any protective sigils on the walls or floor, and he'd left his gun and knife in the impala, and so had Sam. The only thing he had that was remotely close to protection was a half empty salt shaker in his jacket. He dimly wondered what John would have said if he'd been here.

Fortunately, there was no threat. It was Dr. Mehta. Dean heaved a sigh of relief.

"Dean, right?" the doctor spoke. Dean nodded. "Got a minute? There's something I want to talk to you about." If she found Dean's clinginess to his siblings weird, the woman didn't show it.

Dean reluctantly followed her outside the room. "What?" he said more curtly than he'd intended.

The doctor took an involuntary step back, but when she spoke, her voice was strong, full of conviction. "There are healing claw marks on your sister's shoulder. Mind telling me what caused those?"

Dean heard the thinly veiled accusation, and answered warily. "She was attacked by an eagle not too long ago. It was a freak accident; she was eating a steak outside, and the bird wanted it!"

"Does she get a lot of those?" this time the accusation wasn't as disguised as before. "Freak accidents, I mean?"

"What exactly are you asking?" Dean's voice was hard.

"Emily has a knife scar on her thigh, and I know she's tried to kill herself before if the fading scars on her arms are anything to go by. Now, I'm not saying anything, but I grew up on a farm with three older brothers. Let's just say their idea of entertainment, and mine were not entirely similar."

Dean exploded at the implication. "What the hell are you saying? You think we … I somehow hurt her? That I sicked a dog on her, used her as bait or maybe dared her into dangerous situations or something fucked up like that? Screw you! We'd never hurt her! I'd never hurt her!"

Looking into Dean's blazing eyes, the doctor believed him. However, it was his next words that convinced the woman beyond any doubt.

"If I could take her place, I would!" Dean said softly, feelingly, his ire gone as quickly as it had flared as he remembered that this woman had saved Emily's life. "I'd die in her place."

"Well, that won't be necessary, at least not this time!" the doctor said wryly, trying to make up for the accusation, but failing dismally with her weird humour. Nevertheless, Dean smiled at her.

"Thank you for watching out for her," he said.

"It's my job," the doctor said simply and walked away.

Dean watched her go. She was a brave woman, Dean had to give her that. Confronting a man who most people instinctively knew was dangerous was beyond the woman's call of duty and Dean knew it and respected her even more.

He checked his phone. Bobby was late. It was unusual, but not unexpected. Cars broke down, or run out of fuel, drivers run afoul of over zealous traffic police, and roads got closed for all sorts of reasons. He wasn't worried, Bobby had promised he'd be here, and Dean knew the man would do everything in his power to fulfil his promise. He leaned back against the wall and briefly closed his eyes. When he had composed himself, he shoved off, rolled his neck wearily and returned to the room, to the two people he lived for.


	10. Chapter 9

Dean had finally managed to fall into a light sleep when Bobby got to the hospital. Telling the nurses that he was an uncle to the 'Masterson' siblings had gotten him past the nurses' station. He was surprised he'd been let in, since it was way past visiting hours and Emily already had two visitors, the maximum number allowed in a room. However, he didn't dare look a gift horse in the mouth, so he followed the nurse quietly, hanging onto his duffel and hoping she didn't ask him to leave it in a locker or something. She didn't, but he didn't relax until they were at the room. She knocked lightly before opening the door and stepping aside so he could walk in. She smiled kindly at him then closed it behind him. The Winchester boys had obviously been woken up by the knocking, even though it had been incredibly light. Both were coiled tensely, ready to take down any threat. They relaxed visibly when they saw it was him, and even though they both looked exhausted, Dean more so than Sam, they still smiled at him. His heart softened at the sight of them as it was wont to, and a smile tugged up his lips, noticeable only by the slight lifting of his moustache.

"Hey Bobby!" they greeted softly, then hugged him quickly in turn.

"You boys okay?" he asked, even as his eyes scanned them worriedly. He knew their penchant to underplay their injuries and discomforts, and needed his own visual confirmation.

"We're fine, Bobby. Not a scratch." Dean answered as he unsuccessfully tried to hide a yawn.

Bobby's eyes turned to Emily. He couldn't help feeling a sense of deja-vu seeing her in a hospital bed. At least this time she didn't have a face mask on. "How's she?" he asked as he walked over to look down at her. He gently capped her cheek, feeling unbelievably relieved when he felt its warmth, and he couldn't help smiling fondly at the tangled nest her hair had already become.

"They saved her life … and her arm, though it'll not be a hundred percent." Sam answered, his voice subdued.

"It was bad Bobby, real bad." Dean whispered, horror tingeing his voice as he remembered the mess that had been Emily's arm, the blood, both hers and the werewolf's that had covered her chest and how lifeless she'd looked.

"She's not home free yet." Sam said solemnly reminding them all of the danger of infection, and not the infection the doctors were worried about.

"We'll figure something out." Bobby said stepping away from Emily and reaching into his duffel to retrieve the huge tome. Sam smiled and Dean groaned theatrically. Bobby shook his head at Dean's reaction. "You're lucky I brought just the one book! You guys can get some more sleep, I'll read."

"Bobby, you must be tired!" Sam exclaimed. A five hour drive would be no big deal to him, or Dean, or even Emily, but Bobby while not a candidate for a nursing home yet, was not exactly a spring chicken.

"You have no idea!" the man admitted. Now wasn't the time for keeping up appearances.

"So why don't you rest while I read." Sam offered.

"Geek!" Dean snorted. He ignored Sam's glare, settled himself and nodded off quite suddenly.

"I'm glad you're here Bobby." Sam said softly after about five minutes, when he was sure Dean was really asleep.

"She'll be fine, Sam." Bobby assured him.

"You really think so?"

"She's a Winchester, ain't she? Stubborn bunch of idjits you lot are! Never know when to quit! If anyone can beat the odds, it's her."

Sam bit his lower lip as he thought about that. All things considered, it wasn't much of a reassurance, but it was true that they'd pulled themselves out of sticky situations just by sheer force of will. Yes, they were stubborn, almost to a fault, but that wilfulness always did stand them in good stead. Sam nodded and returned to the tome.

Bobby hoped he'd not just made an empty promise. He watched Sam read, intending to keep silent vigil, but exhaustion wouldn't let him and he fell asleep without meaning to.

Sam read diligently for an hour, and a little less diligently for another thirty minutes before giving it up. He was beat. Marking the page he'd gone up to, he replaced the tome in the duffel and made himself as comfortable as someone his height could possibly get in such a chair. He closed his eyes, but that didn't stop unpleasant thoughts from buzzing around his head, despite his exhaustion. It was only after concentrating on Dean's breathing that he'd fallen asleep.

Sunrise came too soon, with the three men coming awake with creaks and groans, stiff backs and sore necks, and a burning desire for coffee that none of them was inclined to go and collect.

"Hey, look, I think she's waking up!" Bobby announced rather eagerly.

The brothers looked over at Emily. She was indeed showing signs of waking up, but they'd been around for the last two of her awakenings and had been completely underwhelmed. The first time, with her vision blurred and her brain not firing on all cylinders, she'd thought they were some sort of fuzzy holograms and had grinned in drugged amazement at how cool that was. Then she'd waffled on in an unfocused and mostly incoherent way, about some vacation she'd gone on with her parents, that had ended disastrously with them suffering severe food poisoning. She'd spoken in rambling detail about the rather disgusting effects of the poisoning, before chuckling and falling asleep abruptly. The second time she'd been a little less incoherent, but just as insanely happy and she'd sang Nick Drake's tragic song "Black Eyed Dog". Given the setting and circumstances they were in, the choice of song should have scared them badly with it's foreboding lyrics and melancholic tune, but she'd sang it completely off key and with such creatively improvised lyrics that they'd bellowed in reluctant laughter. In both cases, Emily had not acknowledged or even seemed aware of where she was or how she had gotten there. The brothers were sure this waking wouldn't be any different.

"Well, don't hold your breath!" Dean mumbled to Bobby while stifling a yawn.

"Actually, I think you should, but not for the reasons you think! She's very entertaining to watch and listen to, even though she barely makes any sense!" Sam chuckled as he stretched his long frame. He remembered how Emily had kept on reaching out to touch them but had consistently grabbed air instead, no matter how close they moved to her. Obviously her depth perception had been warped by whatever medication she was on.

"Except for the cussing. That is remarkably clear!" Dean added, his voice caught between disapproval and amusement.

"And rather creative." Sam said admiringly.

"Creative? She's got the mouth of a seasoned sailor!" Dean said disapprovingly.

Sam laughed at his brother's objections. Dean had had such a potty mouth as a teenager, and not even their father at his sternest or Pastor Jim at his most preachy could get him to clean up his language. It was only when they'd given him up as a lost cause and stopped bothering him about it, that he'd lost interest and stopped casually peppering all his sentences with every expletive he knew. Now he swore mostly when he was extremely emotional, which given their job and his temperament was still a lot. So his disapproval of Emily's language was ironic and hilarious.

However, Emily woke up lucid, and not as creatively crude as she'd been before, though her speech was far from expletive free. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she focused on her brothers.

"Sam? Dean? Oh thank Pythagoras! I was worried there were more of those mother-fucking sons of bitches and that they'd had made you their fucking chew toys!" she beamed at them, joy and relief evident in her voice that was still slightly slurred. Guilt that her survival had come at the expense of someone else would likely assail her later, but for now, all she felt was relief that she was still here and so were her brothers.

"Actually, there were three others," Dean answered.

"We took them down. We're fine!" Sam added hastily when he saw Emily's eyes clouding over with anxiety.

"Really?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. She knew her brothers were likely to say they were fine even as they breathed their last.

"Yes, really." he assured her.

"Fuckin' Ace!" she cheered.

Dean rolled his eyes, then with identical grins, he and Sam leaned in to hug her, being careful not to jar the IVs. They raised the bed's head so she could get into a sitting position and she caught sight of Bobby who had hang back to allow the Winchesters their moment. "Bobby!"

"Good to see you kid!" Bobby leaned in for a hug, just as carefully as the brothers had. He was gratified and warmed by the joy in Emily's voice at seeing him. "I know motel beds are not exactly the most comfortable out there, but that's no reason to check into a hospital!" he teased.

"In case you weren't aware, we were at your house not a motel. The bloody beds weren't the issue though!" she paused for effect and with eyes twinkling with mischief, she finished with, "It was the fucking ambiance!"

Bobby chortled good-naturedly. Telling Emily off about her language would achieve nothing, so he took it in stride. Besides, having lived and hunted as long as he had, he'd heard far worse, and he knew her language would clear up as whatever drugs the doctors had her on cleared her body. "No, I will not put up that pink sparkly wallpaper you are so keen on!" he said mock sternly.

Emily laughed heartily. Obviously she'd never had a desire for pink sparkly wallpaper. It was just a standing but constantly tweaked joke because she was such a girlie girl, in appearance anyway, and in addition to that, she absolutely loved riotous colour, while the boys and Bobby, having long lived their lives in shadow as they hunted and were hunted, preferred and gravitated towards darker ones.

"Okay, what about yellow? Yellow is good, and according to everyone, it's a unisex colour!" she asked tongue-in-cheek.

"Unisex my foot! Even Sammy doesn't like yellow!" Dean said aghast.

"Hey! What is that supposed to mean?" Sam said trying but failing to sound affronted. Emily giggled and Dean smiled.

Pretending to read the tome, Bobby watched the siblings as they joked and expertly skirted around the reason Emily was in the hospital in the first place. He let them be; there was time enough for that particular discussion anyway.

He was amazed by the changes the months had made to Emily. She was leaner, more toned, and her hair was longer, its length making her oval face seem even more feminine than before. But the most subtle, and yet perversely the most obvious of changes was in her eyes. Bobby wouldn't have exactly called it a loss of innocence, though that certainly came to mind. No, it was more an awareness that hadn't been there before. An awareness of just how fucked the world really was. But surprisingly, there was also acceptance and serenity in those eyes. While she hadn't been in doubt before leaving the yard, the time on the road with her brothers had really made her understand and appreciate the fact that she had a family. She had people who cared for her immensely, people she could really count on, no matter what. People who would take her side, no questions asked. People who would die for her, and yes, even kill for her. She had found her place in the fucked world. That knowledge, that awareness, was there now in those amber eyes, which were nevertheless still twinkling with mirth, and bursting with life.

Bobby also noticed the changes in Sam. The lanky, awkward kid was slowly being replaced by a sinewy man, and his hair was much longer than Bobby had ever seen it when the boys had been with John. There was also a new confidence to the boy that Bobby knew had nothing to do with Sam's developing ruggedness but was due to the fact that his siblings trusted and relied on him. Bobby was sure that John's absence had also been a contributing factor to the new Sam.

Dean was the one constant of the trio. He still wore his hair in a John approved crewcut, he still hid his sensitivity, vulnerability and his shattered self esteem in layers upon layers of cocky, wisecracking swagger and he still behaved like he was superman; unbreakable, and with the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. However, Bobby had always been able to see through Dean's mask and today was no different. He saw the self-doubt, and the feelings of inadequacy. He saw the longing for a different life that Dean would never admit to anyone, probably not even to himself. Dean snorted in derision at what he called 'the apple pie life' and had convinced everyone that he didn't want it, that it wouldn't suit him, that it would be boring. But that was only because he knew he could never have it.

It was ironic really, Bobby mused, how Dean's inner demons made him even more of an attentive, protective brother when it came to Sam and Emily. Having them to watch over not only gave Dean a purpose, it also kept him from self-analysing. His focus on them meant he didn't have to face himself. Besides, their light chased away some of his darkness.

Bobby was glad the siblings had each other. Each benefitted uniquely from the others and from the relationship and they were all better off for it. He also didn't miss the new intensity of the bond between the three. He didn't need anyone to tell him that a shared trauma, probably during a hunt in the last months, had drawn them even closer. Chain links tested by fire were unbelievably strong.

"Sweet Pythagoras, did I get a bloody colon cleansing or something? I'm so damn hungry!" Emily whined suddenly making Bobby stifle a laugh.

"You sound like Dean!" Sam snickered.

"Oh no! You mean I suffered brain damage too?" Emily wailed theatrically.

This time Sam and Bobby exploded with laughter.

"You two are gonna get us kicked out!" Dean complained, then turning to Emily he mock growled, "I hope they bring you jello that tastes like ass!"

Emily smiled cheekily back at him, "Why? So you can have it instead?"

Dean's retort was cut short, by a knock at the door, which opened almost immediately, revealing Dr. Mehta.

They all wondered why she'd even bothered knocking. She didn't seem daunted by the three scowling men who'd shot to their feet. "Good morning!" She encompassed them all in the greeting, then skirted past the brothers to Emily's side. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice curt but kind.

"I'm fine," slipped out of Emily's lips as automatically as a knee jerk.

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. Seriously, these kids and their 'it's just a scratch' attitude, were going to be the death of him one day.

The doctor who had been looking at Emily's chart frowned at the answer and turned to Bobby. "I presume you're the father?"

"Uncle actually. The name's Bobby." he answered genially.

"Good to meet you." she said extending her hand to shake his. "Now if you and your nephews don't mind, I'd like to talk to your niece."

"Sure, go ahead."

"In private!"

"Why?" Sam asked in mild surprise and suspicion.

"I have my reasons!"

"Which are?" Bobby growled. The affable man was gone in a flash, replaced with a steely eyed one.

Dean, who after last night's confrontation with the doctor had figured out those reasons, smiled grimly. "Well, she thinks we might have hurt Emily!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Emily exploded spectacularly. "What?" Screw you lady, the fucking horse you rode in on and the god damed high road you took!" My brothers would never hurt me, ever! And neither would Bobby!" Then after a couple of angry heaves of breath she added, "Who the hell are you anyway? I'm too old for a social worker!"

Dean didn't know whether to admonish her or applaud or flat out laugh. He could tell Sam was as torn as he was. Bobby who didn't know who the woman was, and hence didn't feel indebted to her for being instrumental in saving Emily's life, had no such qualms. He was visibly trying to hold back laughter, and not really succeeding.

They were all amazed when the doctor only tutted mildly. "Well, Miss Masterson, you certainly are outspoken!" Mehta had believed Dean last night, but she'd needed to talk to her patient for verification. Emily's fiery, outraged defence of her brothers and uncle had put the doctor's last misgivings to rest. "And dare I say you're feeling much better than you did last night! And to answer your last question, I'm your doctor."

Emily, to her credit, looked abashed. "I'm sorry I went off on you like that. I ... uh guess you're only doing your job, but … umm, you shouldn't have accused them." She waved her uninjured hand vaguely.

"Yeah, I got that! I'm sorry if overstepped," the doctor smiled wryly. She decided she liked this weird family even though they were a little rough around the edges and about as stable as a powder keg in the hands of a chain smoker.

Emily smiled back. "No harm, no foul, right?" The doctor didn't strike her like the easily offended type, but one could never be too sure.

"Right! Though I've got to say, I've never been told off in such a manner before! You and your brother certainly have a way with words! It makes me wonder if your mother ever heard of a swear jar?" Dr. Mehta laughed. She regretted her words immediately, because suddenly it seemed like the air had left the room as all three siblings' breaths hitched dramatically.

"I'm sorry!" the doctor apologised without really knowing why, though from the reactions her statement had gotten she could guess.

"Our mothers are dead." Dean said emotionlessly, as if the words didn't break his heart anew when he said them.

The doctor startled, having not expected a plural. But plural or not, she had really put her foot in it this time. "I'm so sorry!" she said again.

Dean shrugged. "You didn't know," he said in the same emotionless voice.

The doctor didn't miss the concerned look in the uncle's eyes or the raw pain in the siblings' eyes, or how the brothers moved a little closer to their sister's bed. A decidedly awkward silence filled the room.

It was mercifully broken by the loud unintentionally irreverent growl of Emily's stomach, which was followed by a grumbly expletive from her. This time Bobby growled an admonishment at her, asking her to temper her language, and she apologised hastily, throwing yet another expletive into the apology. She widened her eyes in rueful contrition, her hand covering her out of control mouth. Bobby threw up his hands in defeat. Sam and Dean tried to hold in their mirth but were unsuccessful.

Dr. Mehta heaved a sigh of relief at the suddenly light atmosphere, and decided to use the unexpected opening as an exit strategy. "Well, breakfast will be served soon, and someone will be in shortly to check your dressings, but if there's something you'd like to know before I go …"

"When can I leave?" Emily immediately asked.

The doctor smiled, having expected that question. "We intend to monitor you for a day or two, and if your recovery stays on track, we'll close up your wound and discharge you."

"Awesome! And what about this thing? When does it get off?" Emily indicated the fixator.

"Normally, six to eight weeks, but as your break was particularly bad, it'll stay on longer, that's about eight to ten weeks. You'll also have to undergo extensive physiotherapy."

"Jesus H Christ! Eight weeks? I just got back to my baby, now I have to wait another eight weeks? This sucks ass!"

Both Sam and Bobby looked knowingly at Dean who shrugged guiltily. 'Sucks ass' was one of Dean's stock phrases and they all knew it.

"Trust a teenager to think a broken arm would get in the way of mothering!" Dr. Mehta thought uncharitably. It annoyed her to no end that kids were in a hurry to grow up, and then they found all sorts of excuses to run away from their responsibilities. Why they even kept their babies in the first place was beyond her. They probably thought that having a baby was like having a life size human doll to dress in the cutest outfits and that it would be pretty cool or awesome or whatever other adjective they used these days! "The fixator is an inconvenience, and I'm sure it will make things harder, but it won't get in the way of looking after your baby." she lectured disapprovingly.

Sam and Dean snickered appreciatively as they waited for Emily's outburst.

She disappointed them by settling for a scowl and a sarcastic almost bored drawl, "Wow, you're really judgey for a doctor!"

"Umm, by baby, she actually means her guitar," Bobby explained to the puzzled woman, as the brothers were clearly not going to.

"Oh!" Dr. Mehta turned to Emily. "I'm sorry. Again!"

Emily shrugged. "Meh, it's no skin off my nose." At this rate, taking issue with everything the woman said would be rather tedious, besides, Emily wanted her gone so she and her brothers and Bobby could talk.

"And umm, about the guitar, well … like I explained to your brothers, you suffered extensive nerve damage. We had to do a nerve graft in the surgery. It's going to take upwards of eighteen months for full nerve recovery, and even then, chances are you won't be able to play the guitar like you used to, or even at all." Dr. Mehta continued.

"What?" Emily whispered in dismayed disbelief.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said feelingly, reaching out to pat Emily awkwardly on the knee.

The woman's awkward compassion, such a glaring contrast to her confident brilliance, brought a reluctant smile to Emily's face. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, well … but I wish there was something more I could do."

"You saved my life." Emily smiled kindly. "I'll forever be indebted to you."

"We all will." Sam added with heartfelt gratitude. Dean and Bobby nodded in agreement.

Mehta felt humbled. True she'd been a crucial part of the team that had saved the girl's life and repaired her arm, but she felt like she'd invalidated all that good with all the unfeeling accusations she'd thrown at this family, and somehow being unable to return the girl's hand to full capability seemed like another strike against her. That they were all still willing to acknowledge the good she'd done and ignore everything else was frankly very humbling. She had to continue her rounds, but she found herself lingering as she enjoyed the company of the Mastersons and what was to her greatest surprise, intelligent though irreverently humorous conversation. It was only when two nurses came in to change Emily's dressings that Dr. Mehta left, promising to return. The four of them had no way of knowing that such a promise was completely uncharacteristic of the doctor who despite her passion for her patients' welfare, somehow always managed to remain detached.

The nurses who introduced themselves as Jane and Carol were professional, changing the dressings quickly and efficiently. They too lingered longer than necessary, with Carol laughingly enjoying Dean's outrageous flirting and Jane trying to catch Sam's eye. He as usual, was oblivious to the attention. Bobby rolled his eyes and whispered "Idjits!" to Emily who had no way of knowing whether he was talking about the nurses or her brothers, but was tickled nevertheless.

When the nurses finally left, the atmosphere in the room changed yet again. "Why didn't you tell me about my hand?" Emily asked her brothers and Bobby, a note of accusation creeping into her voice. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?" she whispered.

"Because it could have been worse." Sam finally answered, just as softly.

"How?" Emily asked, the answer coming to her even as the question left her lips. She suddenly remembered the attack in terrifying vivid detail. Yes, it could have been worse! She could have been killed, but a far worse fate than even that would have been the injury healing without medical intervention. That would have meant she'd been infected.

Sam saw the understanding dawn in Emily's eyes, and they widened in horror soon after. He wanted to reassure her, but for once, he didn't know what to say.

"Do you really think I dodged that bullet?" she asked them. She didn't have to detail her question, they all knew what she was asking. She wanted to know whether she had survived being infected by the werewolf scourge.

"I don't know! Maybe. I hope!" Sam spoke, the uncertainty very clear in his words. "We washed the wounds out with holy water until they stopped fizzing."

Instinctively, Emily's eyes turned to Dean. He was the king of reassuring declarations, even when it was clearly hopeless.

"This is all unprecedented. I don't know what to think." Dean looked away from his sister. He was all out of reassurances. He run a hand through his hair in distress. He idly thought it was longer than he liked to keep it, and he reminded himself to get a haircut soon, and try to convince Sam to cut his as well.

It was a sure sign of tension when no one teased him about using a big word like unprecedented.

They sat in contemplative silence, until a hospital food service worker came in with breakfast for Emily who was frankly no longer interested in it.

Bobby managed to persuade the boys to go home, only after telling them that they needed to go get Sam and Emily's laptops for research. As they walked out the door, he added, "And for the love of all that's holy, clean yourselves up. And get some food in you as well."

"Yeah, we'll clean up!" Sam answered, and he didn't just mean him and Dean having a bath. Bobby decided there was no need to tell the boys that he'd taken care of the werewolves. They'd find out for themselves soon enough.

After her brothers left, Emily stared unseeingly at the ceiling for nearly three minutes before speaking. "Square with me, Bobby. It could still happen, right? I could still become a werewolf? Am I going to become a mindless monster? Bloodthirsty and evil? Will I lose control and hurt someone? Kill someone?"

"You will never be evil, no matter what!"

Emily closed her eyes. It was a sweet, kind answer, and Bobby, bless his sappy soul, really believed it, but it wasn't true. Anyone was capable of becoming evil, and a werewolf bite might just have jumpstarted her reluctant journey into evilness. Tears leaked out the corner of her eyes. No dramatics or hysterics, just irrepressible wayward tears. "Bobby!" she whispered, "The truth … please!"

He sighed. "Fine, but look at me."

She didn't move.

"Look at me Emily!" it was a sharp order; a voice he rarely used, but knew couldn't be ignored.

Her eyes snapped open. The amber liquified with unshed tears. Her distress obvious.

"Yes, the truth is you _might_ become one of the things we hunt, and the evil inside _might_ become hard to control. But hear me when I say we'll move heaven and earth before we let that happen! Now that is the _truth_! Me, your brothers, heck, even that wayward father of yours, we will not let you become a monster!"

Emily saw the conviction and love in those blue eyes and believed him. "I'm scared, Bobby!" she finally confessed, and the sobs she had so determinedly held at bay till then broke free and tears spilled in torrents down her face.

Bobby put aside the food tray and held her, as best as he could, given the tubes and the fixator. She laid her head on his shoulder and cried. She really was overwhelmed, this was all too much to bear. Stoic as ever on the outside, Bobby mourned and raged on the inside. He hated this. Hated that the Winchesters couldn't seem to catch a break. He hated that all he had to offer Emily was a shoulder to cry on. He could have done anything not to have her go through this, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do, except let her cry.


	11. Chapter 10

The Winchester boys drove to the yard in silence; not even the radio, Dean's favourite silence buster, was on. The anxiety and dread were almost palpable. However the negative feelings disappeared when Dean turned the car into the yard. Both boys breathed out in happy relief when they realised that despite the events of last evening, the yard still felt like home. They'd both been worried that the attack had ruined the second place they thought of as home, that it had taken away the safety and comfort the yard emanated. But the yard still retained it's comforting familiarity. The piles of gutted cars were projects or spare parts, and not sinister hiding places, the changing shadows thrown by the trees were not monsters in waiting, but just effects of the sun playing hide and seek with the clouds, and the rustling, whispering sounds breaking the silence were not threatening attacks but just the wind shifting leaves and grass. Still, the brothers held their guns ready.

Rumsfeld was as happy to see them as they were to see him, and both stopped to briefly pat the often aloof dog. He did not follow them to the house, choosing instead to stand by the back passenger door of the impala.

"Sorry boy, she's not in there." Sam told the dog when he noticed its vigil. With a sad whine, Rumsfeld trotted back to the battered truck he used for sunbathing. A minute later, he raised his head and sniffed the air, then he jumped off the truck and went round the house.

The brothers imagined the worst when they found the bodies gone, but considering Rumsfeld was home and Bobby had been late coming to the hospital, they quickly figured the man had cleaned up before heading over last night. No wonder he had been exhausted. Both brothers already held Bobby in extremely high esteem, and it didn't seem possible that he'd inch any higher, but remarkably, he did. It was good that he didn't expect them to return any favours because they could never be even with him, even if they tried for the rest of their lives.

However, Bobby had not managed or maybe he just hadn't gotten time to get rid of the three blood stains that marked where each wolf had gone down, and those stains were the only evidence of what had happened the evening before. Dean's eyes lingered on the red splodges and he tried and failed not to think about what would happen to Emily if the curse had been transferred to her, and they failed to stop its progression. He wondered whether she too would end up dead on a stranger's porch, alone and unmourned, whether she'd be laid in an unmarked grave or consumed on a pyre, whether a prayer would even be said for her soul. He shook his head as if to clear it and walked into the house. Sam's thoughts run morbidly parallel to Dean's and he took a shuddering breath to compose himself before following his brother inside.

While Sam showered, Dean steeled himself and made breakfast in the same kitchen their sister had lay bleeding not too long ago, and with the same fortitude, he went and scrubbed the porch clean. Then while Dean showered, Sam located the books Bobby had requested, the laptops, Emily's hairbrush, comb and toothbrush, a dress and her flip-flops, the iPod, and the travel coffee mug she had gifted Bobby. She'd had a trucker cap and the words 'Sensei Singer' cheekily engraved on it. Bobby loved the thing, and even though it was a travel mug, he drank coffee out of it everyday and didn't carry it when he travelled for fear of losing it. Today was going to be the first time ever for it to be taken out of the house. Sam prayed it would make the return journey or Bobby would have his head.

When Dean came back downstairs, complaining about how steamy Sam had left the bathroom, the boys sat down together to have breakfast. That was when Sam finally aired a suggestion that had taken root in his head and wouldn't leave him alone.

"I think those wolves targeted us specifically." he stated cautiously.

Dean looked at his brother like he was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and briefly wondered whether the shock of the attack had belatedly caught up to Sam. "Werewolves don't do specific targets, they're not strategists, Sam! They're animals!" he answered slowly.

Sam elected not to dwell on Dean's rather disparaging tone. He had a theory and he intended to voice it. "Think about it Dean. Where did they come from? There should have been other attacks nearby, leading up to this. The yard couldn't have been the first place four full grown werewolves attacked! I think someone brought them or controlled them."

Dean considered Sam's words and realised he had a point. Even though the two of them had concluded that these werewolves were nothing like the one they'd met as children or those they'd subsequently read about, what with being able to change on a non full moon night, the brothers knew that other wolf traits would most likely still be existent. And one of those traits would be the inability to curb the beast when in wolf form. One wolf would have been bad indeed, but four would have been deadly; these wolves should therefore have left a bloody trail of destruction in their wake. But there was none. There had been no attacks, and no sightings. It was like someone had caged up the four wolves and transported them to the yard! Or the wolves had somehow held onto their humanity until reaching the yard. Of the two incredibly far left options, the former seemed less crazy.

"Mmm, okay, I admit, you might be onto something Sammy. But who or what can have power over werewolves? Enough juice to use them as weapons?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea!" He'd not really thought that far ahead.

"Demon maybe?" Dean suggested.

"Don't think so. They've got their hellhounds, they wouldn't really have any need for werewolves. Besides, demons don't just want her dead. They want her dead and in hell." he said matter-of-factly. However, the surreality of the statement did not escape him and not for the first time, he wondered why they were in this life.

"A witch?"

"If she's powerful enough to control four werewolves, she's powerful enough to come after us on her own." Sam said, effectively shooting that suggestion down as well.

"Some bitches just like delegating!" Dean grouched.

Despite everything, Sam couldn't help smiling at that. "Yeah, well, whoever or whatever sent them, probably knows by now that they didn't succeed."

"And you think there'll be another attempt."

"We have to suppose that there will be."

"Shit!" Dean breathed.

"Exactly!"

"Guess the vacation is bust!"

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's answer. "We have to find out who those guys were. Maybe we can find the person who sent them and end this on our terms."

"How are you going to do that, psychic wonder? Make tea from their ashes?"

"You know about tasseography?" Sam injected a note of disbelief in his voice, unable to resist baiting his brother.

"What?" Dean answered as predictably as Sam had thought he would. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam held in a grin. "That's what reading tea leaves is called."

"Seriously?"

"You wanna look it up?" Sam asked innocently, pretending he didn't know the reason for Dean's disbelief. "I'm sure Bobby has got a dictionary around here somewhere!"

"Damn it, I don't need a dictionary! Could you be a bigger geek?" Dean shook his head. "Jesus, I wonder how we could possibly be related!"

"You're the one who brought it up!" Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I was trying not to blatantly point out the obvious; all four wolf boys are dead, so we can't exactly go up to them and ask shit! Oh … wait, don't tell me you're thinking of an Ouija board?"

Sam glared at Dean for a few moments before speaking. "Fine, what do you suggest then?"

Dean shrugged. Aside from bursting his brother's bubble, he really had no ideas. "For now the best we can do is return to the hospital. We've got the computers, Bobby is on it, and you and Rae can theorise to your dork hearts content. Between the four of us, we'll figure this thing out, and get the son of a bitch who did this."

Whether they got it figured in time or whether it would have any bearing on Emily's condition was a matter neither brother wanted to think about. They finished their breakfast hurriedly, and washed up. Dean grabbed the duffel that had the books and Emily's things, while Sam carried the two satchels with the laptops. With their guns at the ready again, they stepped out the front door. Rumsfeld bounded over to them, from the right side of the house his sudden appearance making Dean squawk.

"You're going to get yourself shot, boy. You don't go running up to an armed man! Especially one who has recently had a run in with wolves!"

Sam whose own heart was beating a mile a minute couldn't resist teasing his brother. "Man, Dean, you just squealed like a little girl!" he laughed heartily.

"Shut up!" Dean growled at Sam. "What's with him anyway?" he added looking at the rottweiler with a frown. Rumsfeld, while extremely alert, was a placid dog. He wasn't easily excitable, nor was he given to chasing critters or exploring the yard. It was that combination of alertness and calmness that made him a great guard dog.

The dog barked and raced away. Then returned when he realised they were not following him. He nipped at their ankles, eliciting an irritated bellowed "What?" from Dean.

"I think he wants us to follow him!" Sam exclaimed.

"You clearly watched too many episodes of Lassie!" Dean snorted.

"Just follow the dog!" it was Sam's turn to growl.

"Fine!" Dean snapped. "But if it turns out he just found a dead squirrel, I'm going to hit you over the head with it!" They put the bags in the car and followed the dog.

Rumsfeld led them round back, across the expansive yard, past the small copse at the edge of the property, past the split-rail fence that was in such disrepair that it wouldn't keep a determined two year old out, not that a two year old child would want to venture into the yard! They went through a dense wooded area that made them wonder whether it was some kind of unclaimed no-man's land or part of a neighbour's acreage, past a flower garden that was more neglected than Bobby's place had been before Emily's arrival. And then they arrived so suddenly at a cabin, it was like it had materialised from the air. Beautifully built and nestled so perfectly in the woods, it was probably some rich family's holiday cabin, but from the look of it, the family hadn't used it in years. However, someone else had. Parked in the driveway that was crawling with weeds, was a nondescript grey van. Rumsfeld stopped and sat next to it.

"Good boy," Sam praised the dog even though he had no idea what they had found.

"Nice wheels!" Dean snorted derisively. "Go on, Sammy, check it out, I'll cover you."

Sam resisted the urge to ask 'why me?' and carefully sidled to the van. He was surprised to find it open. He slipped inside and began the search. The glovebox was a bust; it contained just a map, an old owner's manual and a box of cassettes.

"Guess you're not the only one stuck in the stone ages!" he snickered at Dean before continuing his search. He found the vehicle's registration, insurance details and a picture tucked into the sun visor. According to the documentation, the car was registered to a Hunter Keating, a thirty year old male. Sam knew this meant little in the scheme of things. After all, Dean's beloved impala was registered to a Dean Edwards, so it was just as likely that Hunter Keating was an alias.

The picture however gave Sam pause as he looked down at the faces of their attackers. "Looks like these guys were brothers," he said solemnly as he stepped out of the van and handed the picture and registration to Dean.

Dean took the picture and studied it. It hadn't been evident during the flurry of the attack, or its aftermath, but the resemblance between all four men was unmistakable. Dark haired, and brown eyed, they were good-looking, vibrant and happy. Dean closed his eyes temporarily, willing away the images of the men dead … killed by him and his siblings. He reminded himself that the four hadn't been men, but monsters. Monsters that had attacked them. Monsters they had killed in self-defence. But it was hard to reconcile the attack while looking down at a picture of people who looked so wholesome. He sighed and turned the picture over to see if it was marked. It wasn't.

"Jesus, I hope there were no wives or kids!" he said heavily.

"Or parents ... or another sibling." Sam added, his voice clogged with emotion.

Both knew someone important and well loved by the four men had taken that picture. The way they all smiled at the camera was evidence of that. Someone out there was missing these men.

Dean sighed once again and tucked the picture and registration into his pockets. "Let's check out the house."

The door opened to a great room which evidently had served as the sleeping quarters for the squatters as there were four unrolled sleeping bags laid out in a row on the floor, with various articles of clothing and grooming things scattered over them. There were five duffel bags as well. Disregarding this find for the moment, Sam and Dean swept the whole house first, so they wouldn't get any nasty surprises later.

Evidently the four men had used only three rooms; the kitchen, with its sparse cans and packets of food, the utilitarian bathroom and the great room. The rest of the house had not been disturbed; it was covered in thick dust and cobwebs.

Once assured they were alone, Sam and Dean put away their guns and returned to properly investigate the great room. Dean pointed Sam to the corner sleeping bag on top of which lay neatly folded clothes, while a duffel bag and a pair of worn converse shoes were lined precisely at the bottom. "Looks like you're not the only anal one!" he smirked trying to inject some lightness into the somber atmosphere.

"It's called being neat, Dean!" Sam latched onto the opening with relief.

"You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. Same difference!" Dean said dismissively, greatly enjoying the affronted look on Sam's face.

Feeling all shades of crappy and guilt, they went through the men's things.

"I've got a wallet!" Dean said waving it around.

"We're not at an auction, Dean! Open it!" Sam snarked.

It belonged to a Carver Keating, aged twenty-nine. Sam found twenty-three year old Archer Keating's wallet tucked into a folded sock. Dean was right, the man really was anal. Gunner Keating was twenty-seven and the car's registration details matched Hunter Keating's identification. The Keatings were from Spokane, Washington.

"Archer, Carver, Gunner, and Hunter? What was their mother smoking when she named them?" Dean snickered derisively.

"Warrior Weed?" Sam quipped innocently.

Dean laughed himself into hiccoughs.

"What are we going to do about this?" Sam asked after Dean had laughed himself out.

Dean shrugged. "Umm … mmm … okay, let's gather all this stuff and put it in the van. We'll figure out what to do with it later. We'll take the van's keys, the wallets and the phones with us though."

It took three trips to get everything in the van. Then they trudged back to the yard. At the edge of the copse, Rumsfeld began to growl. Shushing the dog, the brothers shared a split second glance with each other and retrieved their guns. They crossed the yard in a silent dead run and flattened themselves against the wall. Their eyes were briefly drawn to the tomatoes that Emily had harvested before she'd been attacked. The vegetables had rotted in the sun, and the sight made the boys' hearts stutter. Taking steadying breaths, they looked away from the ground to each other. At Dean's signal, Sam flung open the kitchen door.

"Don't move!"

Two unwavering guns pointed at another.


	12. Chapter 11

It had taken Missouri just over an hour to get ready to hit the road, and it had taken John everything in his being not to lay into her with his tongue, because God knew the woman's tongue was sharper than his, her vocabulary more colourfully creative, her face more expressive, plus she took longer to run out of breath when she started on a rant ... it was a gift.

Once in the truck, she had sat demurely for about a minute, then she had began to mess with his radio. Again, John bit his tongue to keep his complaints to himself; for all he knew, she might have carried her spoon in her purse, which was nearly as big as his duffel bag. John wasn't sure what she'd left behind in her house, because aside from the gigantic purse, Missouri was bringing two medium cases and an extra large duffel bag. He wondered where she'd bought that thing, and if she'd ever used it before today. He didn't dare ask.

He liked Missouri, loved her even, like an annoying know-it-all sister, but he had to admit, having a passenger was weird. Since he'd parted ways with his sons, John had mostly gone it alone. And he liked it that way. He liked hunting alone, liked having no one to constantly worry about, liked the focus it gave him. But even more than hunting alone, John loved being alone in his truck. He loved the freedom that came with it. He could listen to whatever music he wanted and sing along without anyone judging him, he could let one rip and not have the pressure to air it out, he could drive as long as he wanted, without having to consider the needs of anyone else. And best of all, he did not have to do any small talk. His car was his refuge. When absolutely necessary, he would take a partner on a hunt, and would happily or pretend happily share a motel room with them, but he always made sure they came with their own car so they wouldn't hitch with him.

He remembered with a pang, that Emily had been the last person to occupy that seat, and he remembered how having her there had not felt weird or awkward. The conversation between them had been easy, the few silences had been comfortable. She'd put him and her brothers at ease when they'd gotten to the mall, and the photo-booth, and the day had been so much better for it. They'd all been genuinely happy that day, at least the second half of it. He couldn't help wondering whether that was what this was about. Was fate so jealous of their happiness that she snatched it away almost as soon as it entered their lives? Give him a wife and take her away so cruelly? Give him a daughter and have her become a monster he'd have to destroy? God if fate was human, John would have loved to get his hands round her neck and squeeze! He'd do anything to save his daughter. Not just for her sake, but for her brothers too. Sam and Dean had lost so much; their mother, their childhoods, their possible futures, and normalcy, and God forbid, John was not going to stand by and let them lose their sister too. She was the only other light they had in the world aside from each other.

John knew his sons had always had a special bond, a bond literally forged in fire, a bond strengthened by loss. A bond that didn't include him. Despite his many insecurities, he knew without a doubt they loved him, but he'd never been part of their sacred circle. No one ever had, until Emily. When she'd come into their lives, John knew the boys would like her, possibly even love her, but he'd never expected them to let her in so completely. But they had, and in nearly no time at all! He had to admit that it had hurt him a little when that had happened.

While the bond between Emily and her brothers could never be the same as that between the boys themselves, it was just as strong. And Emily loved them back with an unmistakable fierceness that was both heartwarming and heart-stopping. The attachment those three had to each other was beautiful, and quite frankly worrying. The boys would go to extreme lengths for each other and for Emily, and she in turn would follow them anywhere. If she died, or became a monster that needed to be put down, Sam and Dean would change irrevocably. They wouldn't break completely, they were Winchesters after all, they were too strong for that, but they would have lost a crucial part of their souls that they would never get back. They'd never be whole. John wasn't going to let that happen. Not while he still had breath in his body.

Missouri had settled on a station playing country music and was humming along to the songs. Any other day, John would bitch about the station choice, but not today. There was a more pressing issue.

"Tell me what you know!" he asked, the request coming out as more of a command.

"About what?"

"Missouri, now is not the time to get all mysterious with me. I waited over an hour for you to get yourself in gear because you told me you could help save my daughter. Tell me how!" he snapped. He was all out of patience for this trying woman.

Missouri arched one eyebrow which was a completely wasted gesture in the darkness. She spoke calmly, evenly. "I'll make portions that will flush out the poison of the wolf. It'll be like detoxifying. If we can flush it out before the full moon, she'll be okay." From the notes she'd read, she knew it would be nothing like detoxifying, but that was the easiest way of explaining the process.

"That doesn't sound too bad!" John said in a relieved voice. He'd been imagining horrific treatments like crude amputation and cauterisation.

"It's not easy. And it isn't pleasant either!" she spoke sternly, even though she knew that nothing she said would prepare him.

"What? How bad can it be taking a portion?" he scoffed.

"What matters is that it works," she said instead.

The fact that she was using a variation of his 'the end justifies the means' philosophy made John wary, but currently, she was the only person he knew who seemed to have a solution that wasn't a silver bullet so he decided to hold his tongue. However, he was not going to sit on the sidelines if this treatment of hers hurt his daughter.

The music made the miles disappear. It was nearly an hour later when Missouri spoke startling John who thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Tell me about Emily. What is she like?"

"I've barely spent any time with her." John said unable to completely clear his voice of the sadness that confession brought.

"Well, in the short time you spent with her, I'm sure you formed an opinion! After all you're one of the most opinionated people I've ever met."

"One has nothing to do with the other!" John found himself laughing at the woman's intentional wrong use of the word.

"I didn't ask for a lesson in English!" she chided him.

He sighed, and went silent as he thought of how to describe Emily. Missouri thought he wasn't going to answer and was pleasantly surprised when he did.

"She's beautiful! And strong, though you wouldn't know that looking at her, because she looks … umm … well, delicate is the word that comes to mind! And I know for a fact she hates that word." John laughed ruefully. "If you saw her, you wouldn't believe she eats almost as much as Dean! And she's got amazing levels of energy! You should see her walk! She's a little bouncy. It's like she's got springs under her feet. She talks even crazier than she walks, especially when she's excited; she makes these animated wild gestures and her eyes twinkle. She has a quirky sense of humour and the weirdest laugh I've ever heard, and that is saying something, knowing how Sammy laughs. And she's a spitfire! I think she might have gotten her temper from me! Though she's not as quick to lose it." he shrugged admitting a shortcoming casually. "She's musical; she sings and plays the guitar, and she's actually good at both. Now that, she definitely didn't get from me! She's as smart as a whip! But she can be incredibly singleminded, something else she might have gotten from me. She's surprising sweet, can be very contained …" John paused and checked himself. He realised he was speaking with the rosy coloured bias of a parent, so he added more reservedly, "She's a good kid. The boys love her. Bobby too."

"She sounds great!" Missouri grinned, a slight teasing tone colouring her voice. John was a man of few words until it came to his children. She'd heard so many stories about his boys over the years.

"She is." he said, his voice tinged with joy and pride.

"And her having nothing to do with Mary must be freeing!" Missouri commented softly after about a minute.

John opened his mouth to protest then closed it as he registered the meaning behind Missouri's words and realised it was true. His sons always reminded him of his Mary. Both were fearless and had her spunk. They were incredibly fierce, but at the same time gentle. They, especially Sam, might have got their stubbornness from him, but that gritty determination was from their mother. Like her, both tended to put others before themselves, sometimes to their detriment, Dean slightly more often than Sam. Then there was the humour. Sam definitely had his mother's wry wit, while Dean tended towards ribald or cheeky jokes and one liners like his father, but he used the humour as a shield just like his mother used to. In addition to that, there were those idiosyncrasies that John couldn't ignore. Dean's inability to sit still or in silence for long periods was a trait he had in common with his mother. He listened to John's kind of music, but he hummed along and drummed tattoos on everything like Mary had. Sam chewed his thumb when he was concentrating, just like Mary had and he flushed and ducked his head when he was uncomfortable. He also had a tendency to hide behind his hair when it got long enough.

Even physically, they reminded him of Mary. Well, now that they were older, it was not as glaring as it had been when they were children, but there were still enough similarities that made his heart ache whenever he looked at either boy. Dean's hair while not as blond as his mother's, was a strange mix of her blond and John's brown. He had freckles like her, and he had her eyes though his were green where hers had been blue green, appearing blue more often than not. Sam had Mary's hundred watt smile, and her ability to get people to do what he wanted with his expressive, earnest eyes.

Hell, even Adam, who wasn't Mary's reminded John of her! Blond and blue eyed, he looked just like his mother, Kate, whose striking resemblance to Mary was the only reason John had let down his guard temporarily, leading to the dalliance that had led to Adam's birth.

His boys, and he loved them dearly, were not just his sons, they were also reminders. Reminders of his short time with Mary. Reminders of the brief happiness he'd found after growing up in foster care and fighting in a war he'd not really understood. Reminders of his later failings as a father; reminders of his inability to give them the childhoods they deserved, reminders that he'd not avenged their mother's death yet. On the other hand, Emily, who he'd found himself loving just as dearly, was simply his daughter, and nothing else. When he looked at her, he saw just her. No memories haunted him through her eyes, no judgement looked back at him.

So yes, while he'd never admit it because it might be misconstrued, it was a relief to have that one child whom loving was painless; who didn't bring up complicated emotions. But how had Missouri known this? Something in her voice told him it was not through her psychic power.

"You're speaking from experience, aren't you?" he asked her haltingly, his voice warm and compassionate. Many of those who thought they knew him based on how he lived his life now, constantly on the move and hunting creatures of the night, would have been surprised to hear him ask such a perceptive soul bearing question. But Missouri knew the man behind the mask and wasn't surprised. John wasn't self-centred or callous or unfriendly, he was simply driven, hellbent on avenging his wife, and he kept people at arm's length because he was worried he'd lose them or get them hurt in some way. It made for a lonely existence.

"When my father died, I was devastated, but my mom ... she was completely lost without him." Missouri began after a moment of consideration. "They'd been together thirty-five years, married for almost twenty-eight of those. They were each other's worlds, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that. Anyway, I'd left home by then, but I went back often to check on her. We'd talk for hours with no incident, and then out of nowhere, her eyes would turn watery and she'd get all chocked up. When I'd ask, she'd say she was fine, and I'd drop it without much insistence. Of course I feel terrible about it now, but well, show me a child who hasn't once acted like their parent is incidental to their lives!" she shrugged with a wry smile.

John smiled with her. He knew what she was saying. Most children, especially teenagers and young adults acted like their parents existed in a periphery world that only collided with theirs when they needed something from the parents. It was an apathy that parents, who in most cases were invested in their children, could not fathom but tried to live with. His sons were living proof; they loved him, and sometimes missed him, but they could live without him. He on the other hand couldn't bear to think of a world without them.

Missouri continued. "So anyway, just before she died, she finally came out and told me what had been bothering her all those years ago. She said that even though I looked nothing like him, there were apparently a number of quirks I shared with my father. I'd do or say something that would remind her of him, and she'd suddenly feel this stabbing pain inside. She hadn't wanted to tell me because she wasn't sure how I'd handle it. She didn't want me to feel like she was sad I had lived while my father had died. It's good she held on and told me then, because I was older, way past that 'I'm so misunderstood' angst we all go through as we grow, so I got it, I really did. I understood that I was both a comfort and a haunting reminder to her. I understood that it wasn't my fault, and that she didn't love me any less. But every time she looked at me, she was reminded of what she'd lost, and it was painful. When you first came to me those years ago, I saw you look at your sons the way my mother looked at me. Seeing that faraway look and that melancholic smile, I knew you were not seeing just them, you were seeing their mother in them and it was bittersweet. So even though I've never been through what you have, I have an inkling of what it's like."

John nodded in the darkness. Bittersweet! It was such an apt word; a word he would have used himself if his vocabulary had been up to scratch. Yes, the relationship between him and his sons would always be bittersweet. It was good to know that it didn't make him a bad person, or unworthy of his sons.

They each got lost in their thoughts and it wasn't long before Missouri fell asleep. There was no doubt this time that she was really sleeping. The woman was snoring so obnoxiously that John had initially thought she was just taking the piss, but the loud sounds were too consistent to be faked. He briefly debated about prodding her, but decided he preferred the snores to the eruption of words that would result if he disturbed her. He changed the radio to a station that was more to his liking and drove.

* * *

><p>He got to Sioux Falls in the morning. Having driven straight through the night and the early morning, he was exhausted. His eyes were so gritty, that blinking hurt, and trying to scan his surroundings as he drove was actually making him dizzy. Still, he would have driven straight to the hospital had Missouri not asked, no demanded that they stop at Bobby's first. She insisted that even though the people she was going to see were a sick pre-wolfed out teenage girl, two almost delinquent boys and a gruff cantankerous man, that didn't mean she could turn up at the hospital looking like a hot mess! Apparently, presentation was important to her. "You've got your big bad scruffy hunter look going for you, and that's great. I've got my look too, and this isn't it!" she'd finished, waving a hand to indicate herself.<p>

John had sighed and shaken his head, but he'd driven to the yard. He carried in Missouri's things and dropped them in Emily's room, figuring neither one would mind sharing. His, he put in the den. He always couch surfed when he stayed over at Bobby's. He'd never had a room in this house, not even when his boys were little. And it was not just at Bobby's. John had no room in any of his few friends' houses. It wasn't an oversight on his friends' part; he actually liked it that way. Mary would have called it pride, and he would have agreed with her, but John knew what it really was. It was doubt! After his ordered life had burnt down, he found that the only person he had complete faith and confidence in was himself. It was for this reason that he didn't fully depend on anyone else.

As Missouri had a long shower and primped herself, John went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee and made toast. He had just had two sips of the well made coffee when his ears caught the sounds of quiet running steps outside. However was out there, was really stealthy; John had to give them that. If he didn't kill them, he'd pat them on the back.

He retrieved his gun, released it's safety, and trained it at the kitchen door just as it swung open.


	13. Chapter 12

**_A/N: To those who've reviewed thus far, thanks. You make writing the story that much easier, trust me. I really hope I have done Missouri and John justice. They weren't on the show long enough for us to get a real feel for them ... at least John got more episodes, but he was still an enigma. So yeah, I took liberties with both characters. Let me know what you think._**

* * *

><p>"Dad? You came!" both Sam and Dean's voices were equal parts incredulity and elation.<p>

John was simultaneously saddened by the disbelief and humbled by the relief he heard in his sons' voices. He knew he deserved the disbelief they levelled at him. He had let them down so many times and broken so many promises to them, that they were completely surprised when he followed through on one. And yet despite barely having any faith in his parenting skills, they still believed in his prowess as a hunter, as evidenced by the relief in their voices. With him here, they knew the burden of responsibility could be shared and the situation hopefully rectified. His sons still held on to the belief that he was one of the best hunters out there; that he could take on anything and win. Yes, he knew he had rightfully earned that particular reputation and their faith, but for the first time in his life as a hunter, he didn't care for his image. He just didn't want to lose his children, reputation be damned. That was why he was willing to let Missouri hold the reins on this one. He would take the backseat, and let her get the accolades, as long as she saved his daughter and kept his sons from suffering yet another loss. And maybe in the process he'd earn their respect for him as a father, and not just as a hunter.

Sam and Dean had tried to temper their disbelief but had failed; they were surprised John was here. Even though their father had said he would come, neither brother had really expected him to. But here he was. They recovered quickly, taking in his appearance clinically. He was as taut as a predator about to launch an attack, and with a gun in his hands, and a hard unblinking stare, it was a fitting analogy; he was just as dangerous as any predator. He scanned them as quickly and critically as they did him, and his eyes, those truth orbs that always gave away the man beneath the hunter, darkened with a mix of emotions that flashed and danced away so fast they were almost hard to read. But the brothers had seen the love, relief, pride, guilt, worry, dread and even a small measure of panic. Neither brother could remember the last time their father had looked this haunted.

"Hey boys!" he greeted, a smile lighting up his eyes briefly.

All three flicked the safeties of their guns back on and tucked them away. Quick hugs were exchanged between the boys and their father, then John, who wasn't known for his patience asked, "So, tell me, what exactly happened with your sister?"

Since neither brother had physically been with Emily during the attack, there weren't many details they could give. Dean took the responsibility to speak. "She'd stepped out to get tomatoes when she was attacked by one of the wolves. By the time we got there, she had killed the wolf but it had already bitten her." He knew he wasn't adding much to what he'd told his father on the phone last night, and that made him want to hang his head, but he knew the importance of appearing unaffected, so he looked John dead in the eye and waited for the blame to be heaped upon him.

Indeed John did not disappoint. "Where were you?" he asked in a hard voice. He really didn't mean to blame Dean; the question was just automatic progression of the conversation, at least in his mind.

Dean looked away, he couldn't help it. "I …" he began, not knowing how exactly he was going to finish that sentence.

"It wasn't his fault!" Sam interrupted, defending his brother hotly, his eyes wild.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a groan. "Please god, don't let them start!" he thought. "Not now!"

"It was mine. She was with me before. I should have gone outside with her!" Sam finished softly, self-reproach written in his voice and body. John's mouth fell open. He really hadn't realised his words had come off as an accusation.

"Sammy ..." Dean began, intending to reassure his brother.

"Oh, I certainly hope you boys are not blaming yourselves!" Missouri chose that moment to walk in. She gave John a loaded, disapproving glare. The man really needed to improve his communication methods! "Unless something has changed, your sister isn't a baby and you don't have to watch her every single second! Nor will you be able to. I'm sure she'd tell you that herself if she heard you. Besides, from the sound of things, she's quite capable. After all, she managed to survive a surprise attack and she killed the wolf with an itty bitty knife."

"Hey Missouri!" Sam smiled in happy surprise at the woman. The two hugged before she turned to Dean. He valiantly fought the urge to put his hands over his head and profess his innocence.

"I'm not gonna hit you!" she laughed and grabbed him in a hug as well. He couldn't help the shocked, shy, completely unlike him smile that split his face, nor the amused groan when she added, "Yet!"

When he extricated himself, he asked, "What are you doing here?" Then realising how that sounded, he added hastily, "Not that it's not awesome to have you here!"

Missouri laughed. "Boy, your daddy could learn a few things from you. That was a perfect save! I'm here because I asked you boys not to be strangers, but that didn't get me anywhere, so now I'm stalking you! Let me get us some breakfast then we can go save Bobby from your sister."

"Umm, we already ate." Sam said. It was his polite way of saying he didn't really have reason to wait around nor did he want to. Dean's impatient shifting from foot to foot and his constant glances at the door was his restrained way of saying the same.

John intentionally ignored the hints. He was tired and he was more than happy to hitch a ride with his sons. Dean would drive and Sam would keep the chatty Missouri entertained. It was a win-win for him, if not for his boys. "So where are you two coming from anyway?" he asked, trying to distract them and himself from Missouri's dawdling.

With an irritated sigh he tried but couldn't quite hide, Sam sat down across from his father. Dean, king of poker faces, was better at hiding his displeasure as he sat next to his brother. They were both happy and relieved that John was here, and certainly his input on the case would be highly valuable, but they had been away from their sister for longer than they'd planned or wanted to, and they felt great anxiety not being with her. It wasn't that they didn't trust Bobby or the hospital where she was, they were just having trouble having her away from their sight considering what had happened the last time they had.

"Rumsfeld found the wolves' den!" Dean began. "Well, their temporary one. There's a cabin to the east of the yard, past the woods. It doesn't look like it has been used by it's original owners in years. It's hard to tell how long the wolves have bunked there, but from the look of things, it couldn't have been longer than a few days, a week tops. We found these." He reached into his jacket to retrieve the picture, registration, wallets and phones he had, placing them on the table and Sam followed his lead with the items he had. "We hauled the rest of the stuff out and put it in their van." When John raised his eyebrow, Dean added hastily, "We were planning to go back and get it later."

John smiled at the untruthfulness of that last statement. Dean rarely made plans, he usually made things up as he went. Surprisingly, his schemes were highly successful. His sheer determination to see things through, Sam's accompanying rationality and similar stubbornness, and a bit of luck certainly helped the success rate. So if Dean had decided to leave the van there, and Sam hadn't objected, then they had definitely not been planning on returning to retrieve it. "There's probably no need to move it, you seem to have gotten everything that matters." John said benevolently as he reached over and grabbed the picture first. He knew from experience that documentation could be falsified, and while with the technology around, pictures were not immune to doctoring either, not many people walked around with doctored pictures. "Was this them?" he asked as he looked down at the picture of the four men.

"Yeah," Sam answered, unable to keep the sadness and regret from his voice.

"You did what you had to do." John said knowing the words would not really offer any comfort to either son. The four men may have been beasts at certain times in their lives, but in this picture, and in death, they had been heart-achingly human.

"Yeah!" Sam repeated flatly.

John reached for the wallets, flipping each one open and snorting at each name. "Is it just me or do these names bring to mind images of motorcycles, bandanas and tattoos of skulls and lightening and not vans?" he exclaimed trying to lighten the mood.

Sam and Dean chortled appreciatively.

"How much do you wanna bet that with our luck there's a Striker or Ranger out there?" Dean smirked.

"Or a Breaker!" Sam added unable to resist. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to meet Breaker!"

John chuckled at his sons, the sound gravelly and warm. He was really happy to see his boys even though the circumstances were not ideal. He was glad that they at least had escaped the attack unhurt; physically unhurt that is. He knew they both had invisible wounds and scars for which he would always feel responsible. But at least they were still here. He wouldn't have been able to bear it if something had happened to them as well.

Missouri watched the three Winchesters discreetly. She was moved by how affected they all were by the death of the attackers, and how they tried to rally by using humour. She marvelled at both the physical and character similarities and differences between the brothers, and between them and their father. She noticed how the boys subconsciously leaned towards each other, and how John was subtly softer in their presence. Of course she didn't miss the anxious, hopeful and questioning glances they kept sending her way.

"Yes, I'm here to help," she finally answered their unasked question. She was elated when both boys grinned in relief but she was saddened when she caught the quickly hidden hurt look on John's face. It pained her to see that the man did not understand that even now, he was a hero to his sons. That he had sought help from her, putting aside his pride and reluctance to depend on others made him even more of a paragon in their eyes. They knew that asking for help couldn't have been easy for John and they appreciated the fact that he had.

When she finished her breakfast and announced they could leave, Dean was out of the door and starting the impala before she'd even left her seat. John was only half a step behind him. Sam was last to the car, only because he played the gentleman and waited for Missouri to walk out ahead of him, making Dean roll his eyes and mouth 'Kiss-ass!'.

"It's good to know you didn't rub off on both of them!" Missouri extolled Sam to John when she caught Dean's gesture.

"I can't even pretend that's a backhanded compliment!" John shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips.

"Hallelujah, you're not as lacking in the intelligence department as you are in the manners one!" Missouri quipped back.

"Well, manners aren't a requirement for the job I do. What am I going to do, uh? Ask a banshee to please stop screeching so I can banish it? Or request a wendingo to stand still so I can shoot it?" John replied. "Besides, you're one to talk, you're the most undiplomatic psychic I've ever met!"

"Undiplomatic? I'll have you know I'm very diplomatic to my paying customers!"

"So you're saying if I paid, you'd treat me better?"

"As if you'd ever pay! You'd probably give me fake notes or something!"

Dean caught Sam's eye in the rearview mirror, both sets of eyes full of incredulity at the easy teasing camaraderie their usually austere father had with the crazy woman who more often than not scared them. It wasn't quite like what the brothers had with Emily, but it was very similar.

Dean sped up to pass a semi, and Missouri squealed in protest, "Boy, you'd better hope none of this coffee spills on this dress!" she threatened. The chances of that happening were almost non-existent since Sam was the one holding the coffee mug, but nevertheless, Dean slowed down. Sam was completely flabbergasted. Dean was a good stable driver for the most part, but once he got it in his head to do some thrill driving, Sam could never get him to stop. It certainly didn't help matters that Emily got as much kick out of Dean's crazy driving antics, as Dean himself did, and usually encouraged him to Sam's great exasperation.

Silence filled the car. Dean's hand was itching to turn on the radio, but he distracted himself by singing in his head.

"Ummm, so how are you going to help, Missouri?" Sam broke the silence suddenly. He'd held the question in as long as he could without bursting.

In her element, Missouri first explained about the verumnat, before talking about the potion and giving the same detoxifying simplification she had given John.

Sam frowned sceptically knowing there was no way it would be that easy; potions tended to be foul things with side effects. However, he decided to let it go, surely anything was better than Emily turning into a werewolf or a verumnat or whatever she'd turn into. And that suddenly reminded him of something. "Wait, if she's infected like you say she is, then why isn't she healing?" he asked. He was not trying to be contrary, or to catch Missouri out. He was genuinely puzzled, and secretly hopeful. Maybe verumnat unlike werewolves didn't transfer their poison or something.

Missouri considered that for a moment. "I don't know why!" she said, clearly thrown by this. "But trust me, there's no doubt she's infected. I know you're hoping that she somehow caught a break, but there is no way she could have, I'm sorry. You can't survive a verumnat or even a werewolf bite. You're either dead or infected. There's no two ways about it. And, if we don't take care of this now, I'm afraid the only solution that will be left will be a silver bullet to her heart when the full moon rises." It was incredibly insensitive, but it was the truth. So yeah, maybe John had been right about her being undiplomatic. Well, it was his fault, he hated being coddled or having the truth sugarcoated.

Sam couldn't hold back the gasp, Dean white knuckled the steering wheel and John said "That's enough Missouri!" in a quiet deadly voice that promised violence if disobeyed. All the humour from before was completely gone.

Tense silence reigned all the way to the hospital.


	14. Chapter 13

The nurse at the admittance desk would not allow all four of them to go to Emily's room, and not even John's intimidating growls would change her mind. She reiterated very calmly that there was a strict 'two visitors at a time' rule that could possibly be bent for three but not five persons. Since according to her records, an uncle was currently with the patient, she could be gracious and allow two other people in. When John opened his mouth to complain again, she slid two visitors' cards over the counter, smiled and told them to have a nice day. It was polite code for, "I'm done with this shit, figure out which two of you are going and which ones aren't!"

Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, John grudgingly picked up the cards. Missouri resisted the urge to laugh at the man, though a smile slipped through. He was used to bullying and intimidating his way to what he wanted. He'd obviously never heard the expression that one caught more flies with honey, or if he had, he didn't much care for it!

Since Sam and Dean had already been to see Emily, John and Missouri got the cards.

"We'll be in the cafeteria, using the hospital wifi." Sam said as he handed his father Bobby's books and coffee. "For research!" he added glaring at Dean who he knew was going to log onto a smutty website or five as soon as he connected.

* * *

><p>From her breathing, Bobby could tell that Emily had fallen asleep. He gently eased her back on the pillows and carded a hand through her hair, pretending for a small poignant moment that she was his daughter, and that they were not in a hospital. He'd never wanted children, a fact that had broken his wife's heart though she'd pretended otherwise, and yet here he was, for all intents and purposes a fill-in dad to John's kids. Sometimes he couldn't believe how much he loved the three chuckleheads. They'd each wormed into his heart and taken residence there so naturally, and so quickly, that if he was inclined, he'd think they'd used some persuasion technique or other. He chuckled softly at that, but his face fell when he thought of how they'd come to be in his life. Despite knowing how pointless wishing was, he wished they had not been exposed to hunting. He remembered wishing the same for John the first time he'd met him. And he also remembered how quickly that sympathy had turned into anger when he'd realised the man had two young sons he could have been focused on fathering instead of revenge.<p>

Others might have thought it was hypocritical for Bobby to react the way he had, after all, he too had become a hunter to avenge his wife. But he knew he wouldn't have turned to hunting if he'd had children. He would have left the monster takedowns to someone else. Hunting had no rules, but if he could suggest and reinforce one, it would have been that hunting be reserved for those unburdened by dependents. He knew it was a selfish notion. Putting the happiness of one's family over the lives of strangers was not altruistic, but screw altruism, the world was a selfish place anyway. Of course there were those who would argue that they hunted for their families. That was a load of crap they told themselves to reduce the guilt they felt at abandoning or inadvertently destroying their families. Yes, evil might touch a family and take something or someone away from them, but hunting always completely broke and destroyed what was left. Hunters hunted for many reasons, and as far as Bobby was concerned, the commonest and most truthfully genuine reason was revenge. Some hunted for the greater good; to save those they could, and to keep other families from suffering a similar fate. Some hunted because it was expected of them. Others because it was all they knew. Bobby knew Dean, Sam and Emily each hunted because of most if not all the above. The three of them were a rare breed among hunters.

Then there were those few crazies who hunted solely for the thrill, and the ego boost, and these puzzled Bobby. In fact he was suspicious of that kind of hunter and usually stayed away from them.

He just didn't understand it. Hunters didn't get paid, they got no prizes or medals, heck, they were lucky if they got so much as a 'thank you'. Instead, they got arrested and locked away in jails or psychiatric wards if they were lucky, or unlucky; he really didn't know which of the two fates was worse. Retirement options were terrible too; there were absolutely no health benefits, no insurance, no savings. And that was if they made it to retirement. The mortality rate for hunters was staggeringly high, and the deaths weren't pretty either. He was one of the lucky ones, and that was saying something, considering all he had was all the bits and body parts he'd been born with, a fairly functional salvage yard, a few friends some of whom he'd never consider friends in different circumstances, and three kids who weren't even his. And he was only semi-retired, so all that could still be taken away. Nights assailed by nightmares, days filled with guilt about those that hadn't been saved, and the loneliness that came with the job were not appealing elements of a hunter's life either. So spontaneously choosing to live it was strange to say the least.

The door swung open, shaking him out of his thoughts. It was just the food server returning to pick up the food tray.

"She didn't have much of an appetite," he found himself explaining unnecessarily.

"That's fine. It's a common enough side effect of the morphine," the matronly woman said knowingly. She was surprised he hadn't appropriated the meal. Some visitors did that, sometimes taking the food even when the patient was willing to eat. She smiled at him. He was a sweet father. She hoped his daughter pulled through.

Bobby knew the morphine wasn't to blame in this case, but he nodded and smiled in agreement with the woman, if only to get her moving along faster.

"I'll pray for the both you." she said kindly as she took the tray and dropped it on a cart that was right outside the door.

"Thank you." Bobby said, holding back on the sarcasm.

When the door closed behind her, he returned to the tome. Ten minutes later, he gave up the reading. The book was highly useful and informative, but not this time. He was glad he'd asked Sam to find two other books; 'The Lost Barbarian' and 'Curse of the Moon' which he hoped had the information they needed. He really wished he could have assured Emily that she wasn't infected, but given the Winchester luck, and knowing what he did about werewolf bites, that seemed highly unlikely. He just prayed there was a cure out there.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes tiredly. He really needed that cup of coffee. Where were those idjits?

As if in answer, the door swung open again. "About damn time!" he grouched as his eyes snapped open.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Bobby Singer is happy to see me! Must be the heat!" John joked, though his eyes were immediately drawn to his daughter.

"Don't kid yourself, it's the cup in your hands I'm happy to see!" Bobby retorted good-naturedly. He turned to Missouri with a warm smile. "What brings you out this way? Did you run out of people to bully? Or were you finally run out of town?" he embraced the woman.

"Good to see you too Jack Lemmon! I'm not on your lawn, so you'd better stop snarling!" she replied with a smile. "I came for that one, and I brought my spoon!" she added indicating Emily.

Bobby chuckled appreciatively; the woman was quirky and eccentric, and with those who could take it she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. She could be a little overbearing, but she was sweet and kind in a no nonsense sort of way. That she was here spoke not only of how much John trusted her, but how willing he was to lay his ego aside and get help when his children were involved. For that, John was suddenly redeemed in Bobby's eyes.

"How is she?" Missouri asked softly, seriously.

Bobby shrugged, "She's as fine as can be expected … scared … pretending not to be. You know how them Winchesters are!"

John stood next to the bed, and looked down at his daughter. Given how he hadn't been around her that often, he'd never seen her asleep. He was amazed at how effectively sleep stripped away her steel mask. She looked so vulnerable and delicate, very nearly childlike. He reached down slowly, almost hesitantly, and touched her cheek gently. She was paler than he remembered, but at least she was warm. Her head turned slightly into his hand, though she didn't wake up.

His heart constricted. What kind of father was he? He should never have let her become a hunter. Then an image of her awake and defiant flashed in his mind and he checked himself with a half laugh, half snort. Please, who was he kidding? He'd not let her become anything ... well, not really. She'd already chosen this road herself before his nudge. Spurred on by revenge like him and Sam, she would have become a hunter whether he sanctioned it or not. She'd had that fire in her eyes; a fire that would have consumed her if it hadn't been given an outlet. She would have gone out there on her own, half-cocked and unready and gotten herself killed. He would have lost her. It was the reason why John had strong armed Dean into taking her with him and Sam on the road. He'd thought that experiencing the nomadic, financially unfulfilling, emotionally erratic, thankless hunting lifestyle would purge her passion for hunting. It hadn't! She'd apparently thrived on the adrenaline, and even though she was sometimes overwhelmed by it all, she liked the fact that they were making a difference, whether they were lauded or not. So now, despite his pre-emption, it looked like he was going to lose her anyway, and his sons would never forgive him, so he'd lose them too. With a sad, regretful sigh, he began to run a hand through her hair, unconsciously and unknowingly mimicking the same gesture Bobby had done less than an hour earlier.

Missouri nudged Bobby and bobbed her head meaningfully in John's direction. Bobby looked over and sighed. There was no denying that John could be a colossal ass, but he genuinely cared about his children though he wasn't very good at showing it. So Bobby knew this was hard for John. He could only imagine the feelings of guilt and helplessness that were swirling in the man's mind. Bobby couldn't think of anything to say to make John feel better, but he knew he needed to break the silence at least, so he said the first thing that entered his mind. "Thanks for the care package!" he said holding up the brown paper back and coffee mug.

John took the opening gratefully and run with it. "It's Sammy you gotta thank for that. Love the mug by the way, but since when do you buy bagels?" he said turning to look at Bobby with a grin.

"I don't buy those!" Bobby protested, "Ivy league over there used to get them every once in a while. I thought being on the road with those idjit brothers of hers would cure her of that! Evidently, it didn't!" Bobby actually loved the bagels, as well as the cream cheese Emily would buy to spread on them, and he was sure the boys loved them too. However, just on principle, they all complained about them incessantly. Anything and everything from claiming they were a breakfast food for pretentious pansies, through to declaring they were not particularly American. Emily always challenged them by saying the day she got them and they didn't get eaten, she'd stop buying. "That day was yet to come," Bobby thought as he took another bite of his second bagel.

"You're getting soft!" John teased him.

"Wanna step outside, and test your theory?" Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow.

John quirked a smile. "I would love that, but for some strange reason, Emily and the boys like you, and they've gone through so much shit already, I wouldn't want to bereave them once more!"

"Ho, ho, did the mighty John Winchester just use his children as an excuse?"

"So what if I did?" John shrugged.

"That's such a soccer mom move!" now it was Bobby's turn to tease John.

With the two men bantering and John slightly distracted from his dark thoughts, Missouri made her way to Emily's side. She was surprised to see that the girl looked like she was just sleeping. Were it not for the pallor that was different from what Missouri remembered of the girl she'd last seen almost a year earlier, or for the shadows under the closed eyes, or the fixator, and the obscenely huge dressing on the pale arm, Missouri wouldn't have believed Emily had been a victim of a mauling. Yet she knew the girl was lucky to even be here.

For a brief moment Missouri wished she had sent the grieving girl back to her guardians the day she'd met her. She had certainly thought about it then, for two reasons. First, John had enough trouble on his plate without the addition of a pampered modern day princess, and secondly, John was trouble, and daughter or not, this princess was much better off never meeting him.

So Missouri had considered lying to the girl, but in the end, she hadn't. And it was because of what she had seen in the girl's eyes. Cleverly disguised by a polite disarming smile, was a fierce stubborn resolve. Emily was not going to give up the search, at least not until she found John Winchester or she proved he was or wasn't her father. But Missouri had known even then that John was Emily's father. It wasn't just because the girl had the man's eyes, though that had been a big contributing fact, but because of the intense, almost scary tunnel focused determination they both had. John had uprooted two little boys from everything that was familiar and raised them on the road because of his mission to find his wife's killer. Emily, sheltered and privileged all her life, something Missouri could tell from the girl's car and clothes, had left that cushy life behind, even though just temporarily, to find her biological father. That focus, that single-minded need to see a quest through, no matter the consequences to themselves, was so extreme, it bordered on obsession. As far as Missouri was concerned, it was only a few steps away from suicidal insanity.

And so she had directed the girl to Bobby Singer; the surrogate father of the Winchester boys and the one person who had kept those boys from being exactly like their father. The person who had kept John Winchester in check, and kept him from being the kind of hunter who wasn't too different from the things he hunted; ruthless and driven only by anger and hunger. She knew Bobby would temper the girl's burning intensity, something John would never have been able to do, having neither the ability nor the inclination since he also burned hot.

Now looking at the pale sleeping girl, Missouri wondered whether she had made a mistake sending Emily to Bobby. Would Emily have been better off in her old life, unaware of the darkness that existed in the world? Would she have been safer there? Missouri's eyes flicked over to the two men who were trying to one up each other in good-natured teasing, and she remembered the fundamental truth that most hunters had learnt cruelly; just because one didn't know about the darkness, didn't mean the darkness wouldn't touch them. Ignorance didn't always translate to bliss, or safety. She also remembered something she'd learnt when she'd come by her psychic powers at the death of an aunt she hadn't even known she had; a birthright was impossible to out-run. And apparently, being born a Winchester was tantamount being born with a target on one's back. Missouri knew trouble would have somehow found Emily whether she had found her father or not, whether Missouri had pointed her to Bobby or not, whether she had gone on the road with her brothers or not. At least being aligned with the Winchesters and with Singer had given the girl the tools she needed to protect herself. Missouri conceded; she had made the right decision after all.

So she absolved herself and turned instead to the puzzle that was directly in front of her. She frowned as she tried to figure out why, despite the verumnat's bite, Emily was not showing any signs of being infected. The wound wasn't healing, neither was the shattered bone, and the girl's temperature was not as high as would be expected. Missouri drew a frustrated puff of breath, and returned to sit next to Bobby.

"I don't understand!" she confessed with a puzzled look on her face.

"What?" John asked, his worry making him sound curt, his eyes immediately snapping to Emily.

"She's not healing. That's always the first change and it should happen almost simultaneously. It's the other changes like blood lust and complete transformation that are influenced by the full moon."

"So are you saying she might not be infected?" Bobby said hopefully.

"You know better than that, Bobby!" she admonished him gently.

"Yeah," Bobby admitted reluctantly. But it never hurt to hope.

"Well, now what?" John asked.

"First we need to get her out of here. The potions will likely be frowned upon by these modern practice sorts, and their effects are not pleasant and will definitely get us arrested." Missouri answered.

"Getting her discharged will almost be impossible. The wound hasn't been closed yet because they're still monitoring it, and she had intensive nerve damage that they had to repair and they're monitoring that too. The bone is also an issue and there is still a high possibility of infection. Besides, me and the boys have met her doctor and she's an absolute battle-axe who was convinced Emily was being physically abused, so I don't think she'll authorise discharge!" Bobby pointed out.

"Then she'll sign an AMA form, or we'll break her out." John said matter-of-factly.

"Well, if it comes down to breaking her out, you'd better hope she's not still under the influence of whatever drug they gave her, otherwise you might have to bring a gag with you!" Bobby couldn't help chuckling. "See, when Emily is on something, she's a potty-mouthed ray of sunshine, so you might want to leave your easily offended sensibilities at home, Missouri!"

"I am not taking part in the great escape!" Missouri objected. "So if it comes to that, count me out!" And now that we've got that settled, do you have any Raywood Ash in your stash?"

"I believe I do … wait, maybe it's Griffith's Ash. I'll have to check."

"Let's go," she said grabbing her huge bag.

"What? Now?"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Blessings from the Pope or something?"

Bobby grumbled something under his breath, as he stood.

John laughed at him, but his mirth was effectively quelled by the look Missouri gave him.

"We'll send the boys up." She said to him as she exited the room. "And the three of you had better play nice together. We can't have you thrown out before you get her out!"

Even though with Missouri's knowledge, there was now no more reason to be looking for a cure, Bobby left 'The Lost Barbarian' behind for John to occupy himself with. Maybe he'd figure out why Emily wasn't healing. John mouthed "Good luck!" to Bobby before the door closed behind him.

"I saw that!" Missouri, who was ahead of Bobby and couldn't possibly have seen anything, squawked, nearly toppling John off his chair. Her tinkling laughter faded as she walked away.

John shook his head and smiled wryly. Damn woman and her lucky guesses! He made himself as comfortable as he could in the chair and closed his eyes, if only to rest them. He was bone tired.


	15. Chapter 14

In the cafeteria, Sam took his eyes off his computer to rest them. He sipped at his third cup of terrible hospital coffee and made a face. "Should we call Cece?" he asked his brother suddenly.

"Rae's grandmother?" Dean asked wonderingly.

"You know any other Ceces?" Sam asked drily, raising an eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes in mild annoyance, and ignored Sam's question to ask one of his own. "Why?"

"Because she needs to know what is going on. She's her family, Dean!" Sam said in a duh voice.

"No, she isn't, we are! You, me, Bobby … dad. That woman sent Rae away when she needed her!" Dean said hotly.

"Well, she made up for it later," Sam said mildly, in complete contrast to his wound up brother. "Rae called her when you got fried by that stupid taser, and she was apparently very helpful and nice too. Besides, didn't we ask Bobby to lie to Rae about the results of the DNA test when we first found out about her? How much different was that compared to what Cece did? And dad … he's not exactly parent of the year but we still called him!"

This was why Dean rarely won arguments with his brother. Sam used logic even better than he used a gun, and that was saying something because he was a damn good shot. "You can't compare calling dad to calling her. It's different!"

"Really? How?" Sam asked reasonably, making Dean feel like he was having an absurd hissy fit.

He resisted the urge to poke his tongue out at his annoyingly rational calm brother. "Well, for one, dad's a hunter so …"

Sam interrupted with a scoff, "Please, we both know that's not why we called him!"

Dean sighed and gave up. "Yeah, fine! I guess we should call. I suppose I'd want to know if I was in her shoes." He paused for a moment before adding, "I didn't know Rae had called her."

"Yeah, well, she did." Sam shrugged and returned his attention to his laptop's screen. His nonchalance belied the stutter of his heart as he remembered the horror of almost losing his brother.

Dean's lips quirked in a slight pleased smile. He knew Emily's first and thus far only meeting with her grandmother hadn't gone well; Cece had practically thrown Emily out of her bar. Confused, angry and hurt, Emily had resolved never to talk to the woman again. It warmed his heart to know that Emily, one of the stubbornest people he knew, had broken her resolution for his sake. Every time he thought he had her pegged, she managed to surprise him. He glanced over at Sam hoping his brother had not witnessed his rather sappy moment. He was relieved to find Sam frowning at whatever he was reading.

"Get on with it then!" he growled to counter his earlier sentimentality.

"What?" Sam said distractedly, not looking away from his laptop's screen.

"Well, I said it was okay to call Freaky grandma like you wanted, so what are you waiting for?"

"I thought you were going to do it." Sam bit out a little irritatedly.

"What? Why would you think that? I didn't say I would!"

"You're the oldest!"

"So? It was your idea!"

Sam sighed. "Well, I'm researching, you on the other hand, are just seated there trying to catch the eye of every hot nurse who comes into the room!"

"Well, I wouldn't be looking at them if Rae's stupid computer would let me log onto the sites I want!"

"Yeah? So you could look at more inappropriately dressed nurses? You know, I thought having a sister would cure you of your female objectification ways! Guess I shouldn't have had any illusions! Anyway, like I keep telling you, it's not Rae's computer that's got the restrictions, it's this place's network security settings."

"You forget I don't speak geek!"

"Well, I don't know how to translate into moron!"

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

There was a beat of silence with the brothers glaring at each other. "I'm gonna go buy myself a pie then I'll call Granny Scary!" Dean said pushing his chair away from the table.

"You do that!"

Dean grumbled under his breath as he stalked away.

Sam sighed again and rubbed a hand over his right eyebrow agitatedly as he watched his brother walk away. They were both frustrated. Sam had found nothing even remotely useful after all the searching he'd done. And for all his bellyaching, Dean had tried to research as well, only he'd lasted about thirty minutes. His testiness arose not from the inability to access the smut sites as Sam had accused, but from the lack of information, and from feeling useless. So considering everything, snapping at each other was more or less inevitable. But it was too soon for them to fall apart. Sam knew the situation with Emily was likely to get worse before it got better … if it got better that is, and God knew they as Winchesters could not keep it together successfully when one of them was in danger and they were unable to help, so tempers were undoubtedly going to fray. Besides, John was around and he had a truly special gift; he could push just about anyone's buttons. Heck the man had even managed to antagonise Bobby, who despite his gruff exterior, was one of the most placid, even tempered people Sam had ever met. With a head shake to clear his thoughts, Sam sipped his coffee, made a face and returned his attention to the computer screen once more.

* * *

><p>Bobby spotted Sam straight away. He knew exactly where to look, knowing how the brothers thought. He was surprised to see Sam seated alone. He knew that Dean, despite appearances, was a mother hen; he was happier when he had at least one of his siblings within his sight, though having both close was most ideal for him. Bobby walked up to Sam.<p>

"Where's your brother?"

"Hey Bobby. Dean's outside making a call."

"To whom?" Bobby couldn't think of anyone these boys would call aside from him and John.

"Cece Deco."

"Uh!" That actually made sense. Bobby knew that Sam, who had more social aptitude had been the one to suggest calling her, just as he knew that Dean had only grudgingly agreed after all his objections had been shot down by Sam.

"Emily's grandmother? Oh how thoughtful of Dean! I knew there was hope for that boy!" Missouri crowed in delight.

Sam smiled. If Dean had been here, he would be ducking his head and trying to be invisible, while stuttering it wasn't his idea. Missouri's large personality, her unusual threats and her uncanny knack to somehow know what Dean was thinking, always made him unsure around her. Sam got a kick out of watching his always cock-sure brother flounder around the harmless woman. Dean carelessly mouthed off to deadly powerful beings, and laughed in snarky derision at creatures other people had nightmares about, but when faced with Missouri's threat of corporal punishment with a wooden utensil, he cracked and folded like a toddler, complete with disbelieving confusion and silent sulking. It was unprecedented and extremely entertaining.

Missouri and Bobby told Sam that they were headed back to the yard to get a start on the potion. They handed him the visitors' cards and turned to leave. Missouri turned back suddenly as if she'd just thought of something.

"I don't know if it's my place to tell you this, Sam … your daddy is really trying," she said gently.

"In other words, cut him some slack," Sam translated to himself. "I know!" he answered, the words coming out soft and slightly apologetic. And it was the truth. He knew, and he truly appreciated the man's effort, but oftentimes, John fell so short, that it was hard not to get disappointed, hurt, and angry. Also, for some reason that Sam couldn't decipher, John brought out aggressive anger in him. When Dean and Emily annoyed him, Sam often reacted with amused exasperation, or he ignored them, or told them off with curt irritation. Of course they had shouting matches every once in a while, which siblings living together didn't, but the fights rarely possessed that intense, white hot anger that Sam and John's matches always had. Sam had often wondered what it was about John that made him go from a logical calm person to a raging unreasonable maniac in no time.

"Oh!" Missouri said, then she smiled wryly and patted his hand. She hadn't realised that John was as much a mystery to Sam, as Sam was to John. It was quite funny because despite being incredibly different in almost everything, the two were alike in their dispositions and ideals. Maybe one day they'd figure that out.

"Well, just try to keep away from danger topics until you're back at the yard!" she added. It was the easier alternative to expecting them not to clash.

Sam smiled. He was glad she wasn't taking sides or apportioning blame to either him or John, even though each of them clearly blamed the other, despite both knowing deep down that they were both to blame for their contentious relationship. Missouri waved and walked away.

* * *

><p>Cece Deco patted the rich soil round the roots of the wild iris she'd just planted. She loved gardening; flowers didn't talk back, plus she could touch them without being assailed by horrifying or heartbreaking flashes of past events. It was a peaceful pastime and it never left her with a debilitating sense of regret, unlike tending bar.<p>

People often wondered why she'd decided to own a bar. She didn't really have the disposition of a bar owner; she didn't like shaking people's hands, she frequently dismissed as lies the stories she was told, and she didn't have much patience. Also, she preferred the quiet customers, who nursed only one or two drinks throughout the night, to the ones who drank bucket loads, which was absurd considering the latter spent more money, and basically contributed more to her business.

But Cece hadn't opened the bar to turn a profit, though it had, and neither had she done it to be anyone's confessor. No, she'd opened it in the hope that one day her beloved Chris would walk in. After all, he was a hunter and hunters loved small, out of the way bars that served cheap beer, and didn't have cameras mounted at their entrances or exits. Places where the lights were low and people minded their own business. But the years had gone by and Chris had never come.

Now she knew he was dead. There was really no need to hold on to the bar. She might as well sell it. She wasn't even running it herself anymore. The aptly named Murphy Guinness was the manager, and had been for almost a year now. On the outside, he was rough, a huge ex-soldier with scars from his former trade, but he couldn't be any more affable if he tried. He'd once told her, without being preachy, that no one craved peace more than a soldier. "A true soldier was not a war-monger," he'd said. Soldiers hated war probably more than anyone else, but they understood its necessity.

She could somewhat relate to those words. She herself was, for lack of a better explanation, a psychically inclined, untrained reserve soldier in an invisible but deadly war that was still being fought, by unsung heroes. A war that had taken the man she loved and her beloved daughter as collateral. Cece sighed. Poor Celeste hadn't stood a chance against the dark forces in the world. Cece should never have tried to raise her child in ignorance the way Cece's own mother had. She'd thought she was protecting her by doing that. Instead, all she'd done was leave her exposed and vulnerable; ill equipped to handle what life had thrown at her. But despite her unfair handicap thanks to her mother's mollycoddling, Celeste had tried to equip her own daughter for the supernatural world through letters and talismans. With that, Cece's thoughts seamlessly turned to Emily. The two of them didn't have much of a relationship, and that was Cece's fault really; she'd not handled their first meeting very well, acting more like a psychic than a grandmother. She had hence been pleasantly surprised when Emily had reached out to her for help for her brother, Dean and she'd hoped that the gesture would be the beginning of a proper relationship between them. The girl had even promised to visit which was more than Cece could hope for.

She sat back on her haunches and surveyed her surroundings. There was really nothing here for her anymore. She could leave. Just up and go. But where would she go? Back to Pennsylvania? She hadn't been there since she'd discovered she was pregnant, so many years ago. All the people she'd known there were probably dead, or wouldn't remember her. She was too old and too set in her ways to enjoy a road trip, the way Emily and her brothers did, and settling into a new place with new neighbours with different foibles would be tedious to say the least. So whether she liked it or not, Eros was her home now.

Inside her house, the phone suddenly began ringing, and the sense of foreboding made her heart stop beating for a few moment. She wiped her hands which had started shaking. She didn't get many calls, and never really had, as she was isolated and liked it that way, but she had come to associate phone calls with bad news after the call that had informed her of Celeste's passing. She knew instinctively that this was about Emily. She was after all the only family Cece had left. "Oh God, please, let her be okay. Please!" she begged internally as she bustled indoors. She picked the phone on it's fifth ring. "Hello!" her voice was high and breathless.

"Hello ma'am." Dean began tentatively. For the life of him, he couldn't remember whether she was a Miss or a Mrs. Sam probably did, he was good at remembering such details. Dean rarely bothered because he didn't exactly stick around people long enough for it to matter. He mentally sighed, he should have insisted that Sam make this call. He took a steadying breath and continued, "Ummm, I'm Dean Win …"

"Dean! It's good to hear from you. The last I heard, you'd gotten yourself in a pickle. How're you?" She wasn't asking only for the sake of politeness, she genuinely wanted to know. He was after all, her grand-daughter's brother, so that made him family.

"I'm as good as new, ma'am."

"What is all this ma'am business? Call me Cece. How's your brother, Sam was it? And Emily? You boys good to her?"

"Eeer … Sam's good. But Emily … well, she got bit by a wolf," he began. Then remembering that she knew about the supernatural, he added, "A werewolf."

"No!"

The soft cry of anguish clawed at Dean's heart. It hit him then that no matter what had happened between them, Emily was as much Cece's family as she was theirs. "No! She's okay … well, not okay, but she's not dead. She's strong, and stubborn." He couldn't help the pride that tinged his voice as he tried to reassure the woman.

"But if it was a werewolf …" Cece broke off with a chocked sob. Even though her grand-daughter had survived the attack, she wouldn't escape the curse. She was as good as dead.

"Well, a friend we know might have a cure!" Dean swallowed a gulp.

"Really?" Cece breathed. Dean could hear her voice trembling with anxiety and hope.

"It's never been put to the test though." he cautioned, feeling terrible for taking way the hope.

"Where are you three now? I need to see her."

Uh oh! Dean thought. He'd not anticipated this outcome, and he supposed he should have. He wondered what to do. Even though Cece was so far removed from the frail helpless, knitting in a rocking chair granny he'd thought all grandparents to be, the fact remained that the woman was old. He didn't think it was a good or safe idea for her to start cross-country driving. And Bobby's place was hardly the Ritz! Plus there was a chance they would be attacked again by whoever had sent the wolves in the first place, not to mention the fact that Missouri's cure might not work.

Cece took his silence for reluctance and decided to plead her case. "Listen, Dean, I know I didn't make much of a first impression with Emily, but she's my grand-daughter, and I would like to at least have a chance to change that. Please."

Dean sighed. "Let me run this by the others, then I'll call you back," he said cagily.

"Fair enough. I'll start packing." Dean actually shook his head in awed amazement as he hang up. The woman sure was optimistic.

He returned to where he'd left his brother.

"So? How did she take it?" Sam asked.

"She wants to visit."

"What?"

"Don't tell me you're shocked? What did you expect? She's Emily's family after all."

Sam was going to retort back, but then decided to concede the point. Even though he had basically just thrown Sam's words back at him, Dean was right. Cece would obviously want to see Emily.

"I told her I'd talk it over with everyone first." Dean continued.

"That was actually a smart deflection!"

"Don't sound so surprised!" Dean grumbled peevishly.

Sam laughed long and hard, then stopped when he caught the glower on Dean's face. He mumbled an insincere 'sorry' and told Dean that Bobby and Missouri had left, showing him the visitor's cards.

"Let's go then!" Dean snatched the cards and walked away leaving Sam to pack both laptops and race after him.

* * *

><p>Emily awoke with an anguished scream. High pitched and almost childlike, the sound hit John like a bullet. He was up and leaning over her, as she scrambled and struggled to sit up, gasping as if the simple action was the most difficult thing she'd ever done.<p>

Disoriented by the pain she was feeling, the fact that she wasn't fully awake, and the loud high-pitched incessant sound that was giving her a headache, Emily could barely articulate herself. "Please, please, make it stop! Make it stop!" she sobbed brokenly. Her broken arm hurt like it was splintering, her unbroken one hurt even more; fire radiating from its pinkie finger, all the way past her shoulder to her neck. She didn't understand what was happening, why she was burning. And why no one was putting out the fire. She just wanted it to stop.

John's heart was trying to escape from his chest as he tried to help his daughter. Wrapping his arms around her without hurting her arm was an exercise in strategy. "Stop what?" He spoke calmly, hoping the calm would carry over to Emily. He wondered where the hell the nurses were. This was the worst response time he'd ever known. He felt like hours had passed since she'd woken up screaming and the machines had gone crazy.

Emily was now making choked sob sounds, and trying to get the useless fingers of her left hand to grab her right, so she could investigate the cause of the pain. In her agony she'd forgotten the doctor's words about the nerve damage she'd sustained, so the lack of response in her fingers made her panic even more.

Finally, she processed that the person in her face, the person whose lips were moving but whose words weren't computing, was her father. Not Gray, the father who had raised her but John, her biological father. The one whose blood run through her veins. The tough as steel John Winchester. So she had to suck it up, she couldn't disappoint him with weak snivelling. After all, in all but legal name, she was a Winchester. She drew ragged breaths and tried to quell the sobs by clenching her teeth. She had to be strong. But the pain was too great, and when she spoke, the words came out as a pleading breathy whisper, the language inevitably regressed to the simplicity of childhood. Articulacy stolen by agony. "Help me daddy! Please make it stop!"

John's heart broke. "I don't know how to help you, honey, if you don't tell me what is happening."

"It's my …"

But John never found out what she was going to say. The pain must have increased unexpectedly and exponentially because she suddenly sucked in a breath long enough to release it in an ear piercing scream which shattered his heart. It was just as well that two nurses chose that moment to run into the room. He was shunted off to the side as they tried to help Emily. Completely lost in the agony she was feeling, she fought them blindly, and savagely. When she caught one in the face with a killer right hook, they held her down and gave her a sedative shot in her arm. It was a quick acting one, because she was out in seconds. The nurses then measured her temperature, took readings from the various machines that had finally gone quiet, checked the IV, then turned to leave.

John's heart had just stopped sputtering, and his brain had just returned from the emotional ride it had gone on and he now had the presence of mind to growl in his most intimidating voice. "What the hell was that?"

One of the nurses actually backed away from him. "We're not sure sir, probably a panic attack, but she's fine now." the other stammered.

"A panic attack! That was not a panic attack!" John, for whom fear always manifested as anger, bellowed. "Where's her doctor?"

"Sir, your …"

"Daughter!" John supplied in a dangerous voice.

"Your daughter is … umm, was stable. And her doctors are not on call." She took in the look on John's face, looked uncertainly over his shoulder and added, "But we'll page them immediately!"

Then they both edged round him and scuttled away.

John roughly run his hands up the sides of his face, stopping to massage his temples briskly. Then he walked a few steps to stand besides Emily's bed. He looked down at her, trying to gauge whether whatever had assailed her had followed her into her sleep. She appeared to be resting peacefully; her mouth was slack and not pinched in discomfort or pain, and her breathing was deep and even. Suddenly, he was flanked by his sons. He hadn't even heard them walking up to him which was a sign of how distracted he was.

"Hey boys," he greeted quietly, briefly looking at each son, "been here long?" he asked, though from the shell-shocked looks on both their faces, he knew the answer.

Sam and Dean had come into the hallway, in time to hear their sister call John 'daddy' something she'd never done before, her pained childlike plea for him to make something stop was poignant and heartbreaking at the same time. And as far as either one was concerned, their father had never called anyone honey. All that musing had been forgotten when they heard Emily scream like she was being flayed or something. Two nurses had run past them and into the room and the brothers had followed, standing just inside the room so they wouldn't be in the way. They had glowered just as dangerously as John when the nurses had been explaining the doctors' absences. The nurses had finally crumbled under the combined death glares and taken off.

"Long enough!" Dean answered his father, just as quietly. The fear he was feeling was hidden perfectly.

Sam wasn't quite as adept as his brother at hiding his feelings, though he was better than the average person. "Dad?" he whispered, turning to look at his father. "Is she changing?" the fear, and horror seeping out of his voice was unmistakable.

And for a moment, John was reminded of the long gone five year old who had stared at him with big trusting, almost adoring eyes; a little boy who believed his father knew everything. But Sam wasn't that little boy anymore and John couldn't lie to him.

"I don't know." John said truthfully. "But if she is, then we have to get her out of here before these people wise up. I wanted to wait so she could sign herself out AMA, but that might be leaving it too late."

"It will be harder being daytime and all, but Sam and I will scope out the place, and figure out a way."

"Good. And we might need to stock up on antibiotics and painkillers, so while you're at it …"

The sound of someone clearing their throat made all three whirl around.

It was the two nurses from before, the beginnings of a black eye evident on the one Emily had hit. This time however, they'd come with a third colleague; a male nurse who was built like a Viking linebacker. They'd probably brought him as their reinforcement, like a hospital bouncer. The Winchester men resisted the urge to laugh. The man might be huge but he was a civilian; they were hunters, active hunters. Even in a one on one fight, he had nothing on any of them, and that included Emily. He seemed to know it too because his eyes flickered fearfully from father to sons and his voice shook slightly as he spoke.

"Dr. Mehta has instructed that the dressings be changed, she also ordered an x-ray to check whether the bone is still in position. So if you could please stand aside."

The Winchesters couldn't think of anything they could say to stop the nurses from doing their jobs without raising alarm bells, and they couldn't knock them out in good conscience, so they stood aside.

Each of the three men felt a tendril of dread coil around their hearts as the nurses carefully removed Emily's dressings. But the wound was still there. Gory and disgusting, it really shouldn't have made them happy, but it did. They visibly relaxed, and had the nurses been paying attention, they would have been surprised at the change in the men's demeanours. Sam and Dean left the room during the wound cleaning and redressing, after a meaningful look from their father. They had to start scouting the hospital and plan a break out.

When the nurses finished redressing the wound, they unhooked Emily from the various machines and began to roll the bed out of the room. John made to follow.

"It won't take long sir, your daughter will be fine! You can wait here," the huge nurse objected but without any heat.

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to come along!" It wasn't a request, and John's voice and the thunderous look on his face brooked no argument.

"Fine, as long as you stay out of the way." the nurse conceded quickly. He knew better than to tangle with a father, especially one who gave off such dangerous vibes.

John allowed his lips to quirk upwards in a small smile. If anything, that served to make him look more menacing. And it was what he had intended because he grinned widely when the nurses turned away hastily.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: sorry for such a huge break. Circumstances way beyond my control got in the way.**

* * *

><p>As per their father's orders, Sam and Dean meticulously scouted the hospital. They surreptitiously grabbed supplies and took them to the impala, then they returned to the cafeteria for a quick lunch and to discuss and compare their findings, before heading back to report to their father. They found John asleep but he woke up in a flash, his shoulders tense, his hand reaching inside his jacket, his red rimmed eyes hard and suspicious. He softened at seeing his sons. Trying unsuccessfully to wipe the sleep from his eyes, he asked the boys what they had found. He listened intently, asking for clarification only twice. As the three decided which of the exits would best suit their activities, the door opened and Dr. Mehta walked in.<p>

"So, you must be the father!" she began without preamble holding out a hand to a dangerously coiled John.

"Yes. The name's John. Who are you?" John growled, the sleep immediately and completely gone at this stranger's arrival.

"I'm Dr. Mehta." she replied, completely unfazed by his tone.

So this was the woman his sons had told him about. John felt his opinion of her rise tenfold. Even the hulking nurse from earlier had been wary of the Winchesters, yet this diminutive woman, wasn't even slightly intimidated. She was intense and she had an air of intelligence and competence about her. John respected driven professionals, no matter which trade they practised.

"Took you long enough." Dean mumbled, loud enough to be heard. At the moment, he couldn't care less about the woman's résumé, he just wanted to know what was happening his sister.

Mehta didn't take the reproach to heart. "I got a report about what happened. She's not running a fever which means there's no infection, the x-ray revealed everything is as expected, an I was informed that she was given a sedative to calm her down. So, since she wasn't in any danger, there was really no reason for me to drop everything and run over. I do have other patients you know. With that being said, I'm here now, and barring any unforeseen reactions, she should be waking up any moment now, and we'll have a chat, and figure out what really happened." The doctor was not worried. She thought the girl had only had a nightmare or a panic attack, or at the worst, it had been a strong reaction to breakthrough pain. As ordered, the nurses had added another dose of morphine in Emily's IV on her return from the x-ray room, so if pain had been the issue, it had been taken care of.

As if on cue, Emily stirred with a soft groan, it wasn't from pain, because she wasn't feeling any; it was just a coming awake groan. The doctor and the Winchesters raced to her side. She quickly took in the four faces looking down at her, then frowned at John. "John?" she said uncertainly.

Well, dad didn't last long! John thought as he smiled at her. "Like a bad penny!"

She beamed widely. "Oh thank Pythagoras! Shit! I thought I was seeing things!" she slurred her words slightly. She struggled to sit up to hug him. Dr. Mehta stopped her.

"This is here for a reason!" she tutted as she used the control pad to raise the head of the bed. Emily rolled her eyes but stayed quiet.

John enfolded his daughter in a careful hug, then stood back with a frown. "I've been here for a while now, you know!"

"Really? Oh bugger, I can't have been great company, what with all the sleeping!" Emily smiled apologetically. "But I'm awake now," she threw her right arm out in a flourish.

John smiled, it was impossible not to in the face of such enthusiasm. "How are you feeling?"

She was feeling quite euphoric thanks to the morphine, but that wasn't quite what came out of her mouth when she spoke. "I'm fucking ace! Except I'm so damn hungry, my stomach is pretty sure my throat has been slashed or something!"

John and his sons winced at the image the words conjured, but Dr. Mehta took them in stride.

"Lunch is not for another half hour!" she stated imperiously. This wasn't a hotel.

Emily's eyes widened, and she spoke in a slightly wobbly 'I'm bravely holding back tears' voice, "But I didn't have any breakfast!"

With glares at the apparently unfeeling doctor, both Sam and Dean offered to go to the cafeteria and get Emily something to eat.

The siblings' orchestrated theatrics worked on the doctor like they'd hoped.

"Hold it. I can only imagine what you two would purchase!" she said sternly, oddly reminding the boys of Missouri. "I'll see what I can do." She swept out of the door.

The Winchester siblings grinned at each other, exalting in the success of their act, and earning an amused eye-roll from their father.

"You three are shameless!" he tried to admonish them, but his amusement made it ineffective. "I'm surprised it worked on her though! Like Bobby said, she's quite the battle-axe! A force to be reckoned with!"

"I want to be like her when I'm done growing up!" Emily smiled.

"You're already taller than she is, She-Hulk!" Dean laughed.

"I meant character and personality wise, doofus!"

Sam snickered.

"Come on, you're already paranoid, and bossy, and contrary and …" Dean began.

"Awesome? Thank you!" Emily interrupted with a cheeky smile.

"That's not wha …"

"Right, enough, guys!" John interrupted, his voice indulgent and a smile playing on his lips. He knew his children could banter for hours, if he didn't nip it quickly. "Emily, what's the last you remember, before waking up now?"

The smile on her face fell as she remembered. "Umm, me and Bobby, we talked for a bit, then I guess I fell asleep," she answered, flushing a little when she remembered how she'd lost it and sobbed in Bobby's arms.

"Is that it?" John asked.

"Yeah. Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at her brothers, wondering if they'd drawn on her face or put náir on her eyebrows. She wouldn't put such tricks past them. A hand to her face assured her; she still had eyebrows, and her hairline had not been artificially receded. Hopefully nothing had been bleached. She needed a mirror urgently.

Sam looked at her with a small frown. It was such a John-esque gesture that it made her blink in surprise. "You're not having a laugh, are you?" he asked.

Okay, this wasn't about a prank. Sweet phythogaras, had she transformed or something? "What happened?" she asked, getting alarmed, and making the heart monitor's bleeping louder and faster.

"Jesus, Rae, relax, before you give us all heart attacks!" Dean exclaimed with as much alarm as Emily.

In a bid to calm her down, John told her what had transpired, with as little drama as possible which meant not mentioning how potent her pain had appeared and how almost debilitating his emotions had been.

However, looking from him to her brothers and back again, Emily could tell that the moment had been intensely charged. She hated being the cause of their distress. She frowned in concentration as she tried to remember the events she had just been told about. Nothing came to her. "How come I don't remember it happening? Are blackouts a symptom of the change?" she asked, her heart beginning to hammer again.

"Your lunch will be here shortly." Dr. Mehta entered the room in a whirl of movement and words. "So, Emily, earlier today, you gave your dad here quite the scare. As I …"

Despite the respect he felt for her, John glared at the woman. She really had the most annoying habit of appearing at the most inopportune times.

"We were actually just discussing that. I don't remember any of it!" Emily interrupted the doctor with a glare quite similar to the one her father was sporting. Fear quickly manifesting as anger for her, as it did for all the Winchesters. "How come?" she asked.

Sam and Dean crossed their arms in front of their chests and raised their eyebrows.

The doctor ignored all four. She crossed the room to grab Emily's chart from the foot of the bed, scanned it perfunctorily then looked up. For the first time since they'd met her, she looked apologetic although when she spoke there was no actual word of apology. "The nurses gave you midazolam, which unfortunately causes amnesia in some patients. There's no way of telling who will be affected that way, so …"

"Amnesia? Oh fuck-sticks on toast! That's ridiculous! I remember everything else!" Emily scoffed.

John raised an eyebrow in warning at her language, but his daughter either didn't see it or chose to ignore it.

The doctor having already been exposed to it took the cussing in stride, and continued her explanation. "It's not total amnesia, otherwise the drug would have had to be discontinued despite its advantages. The memory loss usually just centres around the events that are happening right prior to and immediately after the administration of the midazolam. It's not serious."

"Fine, since she can't tell us what happened, what in your expert opinion made her freak out like she did?" John bit out, somehow managing to make the word expert sound like an insult.

"It could have been any number of things; I'm leaning towards it having been a panic attack brought on by a nightmare. According to the nurses' report she kept saying 'get it off', so maybe she was re-living the attack. I can assure you that physically, she's on the right track to recovery," the doctor said. She had no idea that she'd just given them the perfect opening for their intention to leave. John grabbed it with well hidden enthusiasm.

"It's really reassuring how much you know!" he drawled sarcastically. "Because this hospital is taking such wonderful care of my daughter, I believe taking her elsewhere would be most prudent. Where do I get the necessary papers?"

"Sir, your daughter is eighteen; that makes her an adult. So if she's going to leave the hospital against medical advice, it will have to be her decision, but …"

"Oh, trust me, I'll sign the fucking papers!" Emily interrupted.

"But it's my duty to ascertain that not only does she understand the consequences of her decision, but that she is not coerced into making the decision she makes!" the doctor continued as if Emily hadn't spoken. She may have taken the brothers and the uncle off her suspect list, but the father was a different story. It was evident, from the little she had seen of him, that he was a bully. He was used to intimidating people and was obviously not averse to manipulating his children to get his way.

"Let's get this straight doctor! I am not an idiot, and neither am I incapacitated in any other way. I can certainly make my own decisions, and understand their consequences!" Emily protested hotly. She hated being disregarded in discussions especially when they were about her.

Dr. Mehta raised an eyebrow. She knew that most people who were manipulated into a decision could not stick with or defend their choice if pressed, but she was also aware that if oppressed long enough, a person could and would justify such a decision to the end. However, Emily had struck her as a secure, self-assured and rather vociferous teenager and she had to suppose that the girl's strong opinion likely meant she was as eager to leave the hospital as her father was, and she wasn't just saying it to please him. But still, Mehta had to do her due diligence.

"Be that as it may, while your intelligence and soundness of mind are not in question, your emotional state might be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Emily exclaimed. She seriously couldn't believe the nerve of this woman.

"It's evident you've tried to kill yourself before. As far as I'm aware, people who are emotionally grounded are not suicidal."

There was a beat of shocked, horrified silence.

Then before her brothers or father could begin shouting and punching walls, Emily spoke, chocking back a heartfelt sob. "I was in a bad place, okay? I'd lost my pa … mother, and my dad and brothers were not there, and uncle Bobby was in another town. I thought I had no one. And I believed there was no point in going on. I was wrong of course. It was a stupid thing to do and I regretted it." The trick to a convincing act was to mix fiction with a touch of fact.

Sam and Dean looked at Emily in dismayed regret. They had never really thought about how hard it must have been for her, then. She'd not only lost her parents, but her world had been rocked by the revelations in the letters sent by her biological mother. They realised that her quest to find John hadn't just been about finding her biological father, it had been a quest to find her roots, to find a place to belong. It had been a quest to take back control and make sense of a world that had spun away from her. And she had been alone, lost and vulnerable. They knew there was a modicum of truth to what she'd just said. No, she hadn't tried to kill herself, a reaver had done that, but the feelings of hopelessness and dejection had been real enough.

In almost synchronised movement, Dean touched her shoulder, while Sam took her uninjured hand and squeezed. Emily closed her eyes briefly. She knew her brothers enough now to guess what they were thinking. The idiots were blaming themselves. They could guilt trip over anything and everything. So they had had Bobby lie to her about her kinship to them, but her ordeal with the reaver hadn't been their fault. Their decision had had nothing to do with the attack. Their quiet apologies were touching but unnecessary; she didn't blame them, she never had. She squeezed Sam's hand back, in acknowledgement, then drew their entwined hands upwards to touch Dean's at her shoulder, even though she knew the gesture would embarrass him, as he was not big on public displays of affection.

John watched his children, and as usual felt like a fifth wheel. Then he immediately felt guilty for feeling that way.

Dr. Mehta was warmed by the brothers' reaction to their sister's confession, but looking at the older one, Dean, she sensed that saying anything to him would make him uncomfortable, and addressing only Sam would seem like favouritism. So instead, she talked to Emily, her words soft and kind. "You're not stupid. Trying suicide may have been umm … misguided, but I know sometimes, grief makes us illogical."

Emily's eyes flicked to her brothers then to John, and a smile ghosted across her face. "Yeah, but family anchors us." The words were earnest, coming from deep within her soul.

Dr. Mehta shrugged. On one hand she wanted to disagree; her own family members were awful, and she had gladly left them behind, and hoped to never see them again. But this family, though rough-and-ready, and considerably dysfunctional, was proof that family could be a good thing.

A knock was answered with a short, curt 'yeah' from John, while the siblings withdrew physical contact with each other. The door was pushed open by a clearly disgruntled food service worker who kept it wedged open with the food cart and carried a tray of food in. The Winchester siblings beamed their thanks at the woman and she immediately lost the aggrieved look on her face and smiled back at them. Once again, John rolled his eyes. Between the three of them, his children could charm the spines off a porcupine.

"Well, I'll leave you to your meal, but I'll be back later with Dr. Bluth so we can both explain to you the consequences of leaving, and make sure you understand the risks of signing the AMA form." Dr. Mehta exited the room behind the food service worker.

Sam claimed the chair right next to Emily's bed and as she ate, the two started a conversation about WALL-E, a movie Dean had not watched and had no plans of watching because it sounded so dorky.

"Man, you two …" he trailed off shaking his head. He grabbed the third chair and edged to where John was seated reading the book Bobby had left. "Do you still think we should get her out? I mean the wound is still there so maybe … umm, well, shouldn't we at least wait until it has been stitched?" Dean spoke sotto voce to his father.

John looked up. "That would be ideal if it was just the wound, but we don't know what's happening to her and we can't risk leaving her here," he spoke just as quietly.

"Dad, you've seen the wound! You've seen how bad it is. How are we going to handle that? What if it gets infected?"

John looked at Emily who was laughing at something Sam had said. He looked back at Dean, "I'd give my shooting arm if all we have to deal with is a wound and infection."

Both men sighed in synchrony and glanced at the other two members of their family. A horrific image of his daughter dead with a bullet wound through her chest flashed through John's head. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and willed the image away. Turning back to Dean, he spoke wearily. "Missouri seems to have an inkling of what to do, and to tell you the truth, I'm glad she's here."

In essence, John was admitting he was out of his depth. It was a confession Dean had never heard his father make, and he knew the consummate hunter wouldn't want him to dwell on it. So he changed the topic tactically, and smoothly, "Umm, speaking of crazy psychic women, Cece wants to see Emily."

"Wants? I take that means you haven't given her the go ahead yet?"

"Well, no. I figured I should talk it over with you, and Emily first. And Bobby, since we're all crashing at his place."

"If it were my decision, I'd probably say no. In case it escaped you, I'm not exactly a people person at the best of times, and this isn't family time," John shrugged and smiled wryly, "but the woman is Emily's grandmother, so I guess it's up to her."

"Okay." Dean nodded at his father, stood and dragged his chair back to his siblings, "Hey, Bionic Dork, I don't know if Geek Boy over here has told you, we called your grandmother and she wants to come see you."

"Really?" Emily wasn't sure what emotion she was feeling, because she was torn between so many; surprise, awe, joy, unexpected affection, and worry.

Finally, she gave voice to the most pressing one — worry. "Will it be safe for her?"

"Safe?" Dean asked, clearly confused.

"There's a chance I might be infected. What if I turn and hurt her? Or worse, kill her? She's not a hunter like you guys and Bobby; she wouldn't know how to protect herself from what I might become."

"Listen to me, Rae, I promise you, you are not going to change, okay! And you are not going to hurt anybody!"

"Come on Dean, we both know you can't promise that."

"Oh yes I can!" Dean's voice indicated that was the end of that subject. Both his siblings looked at him with wide disbelieving eyes, and he was struck by how alike the two looked then despite them not bearing much resemblance to each other.

"So you want her to come?" Emily asked after a considerable silence.

"She's your grandmother, Rae, it's your choice, not ours. If you want her to come, she comes. The rest of us will deal." Dean answered.

"I do! I mean the two of us didn't exactly hit it off when we first met, and she's not exactly the sweet cuddly grandmotherly kind and I know I shouldn't hold my breath or anything, but she's family. And who knows? Maybe this time it'll be different." Emily spoke breathlessly. No matter how much she pretended otherwise, a relationship with her grandmother would mean a lot to her.

"I'm sure it will." Sam started, "But … eerr, I think maybe … um, it'll be better to wait out this thing."

Emily knew Sam was being cautious and realistic, unlike Dean who had simply decreed that she wouldn't turn into an evil supernatural beast, as if he had signed a contract or something. She was with Sam on this; erring on the side of caution surely wouldn't hurt. But a small part of her wondered whether caution was the wrong decision. What if she didn't make it? What if these eleven days were the last chance she would get to see her grandmother? To make peace with the remaining member of that side of her family, to learn more about her mother? She had to decide which was more important, caution or closure? The question slipped out unintentionally. "What if I don't make it through this thing?"

For a moment, the three men in the room forgot how to breathe, then all three drew rugged breaths simultaneously. However, before any of them was composed enough to talk, the doctors returned.

After a lengthy lecture about the risks of leaving, and what to do if something went wrong, they got both Emily and John to sign the AMA form, then Dr. Mehta witnessed by Dr. Bluth reluctantly signed the form and officially discharged Emily. Sam and Dean left to fill out the prescriptions, a process that took longer than normal as Dean flirted shamelessly with a couple of nurses, trying to get his mind off his sister's last question.

It was just as well that Emily had to stay another hour, in which time her wounds were redressed and she was unhooked from the IVs and the various machines, given detailed instructions on how to look after her hand and herself, and told to see a doctor, any doctor, about getting stitches as soon as possible. With a nurse's help, she changed into the dress her brothers had brought, and tried to comb her hair into some order. Without conditioner it was next to impossible. When she was ready, she was given another shot of morphine, for the road, and she was extremely appreciative, vocalising her pleasure in a loud, happy voice, "Fan-fucking-tastic!"

She was immediately told off by John, who had finally had enough.

"Screw you John! You fucking cuss more than I do!" was her extremely unrepentant chirpy answer.

John was going to threaten her with months of physical labour when she grinned loopily at him and apologised. The apology was still peppered with cusses. John remembered Bobby's words, which now made sense; it appeared that drugs removed some of Emily's inhibitions. As long as Emily had morphine running in her veins, it was a lost cause getting her to clean her language. John shook his head wryly trying very hard not to smile, "I hope there's never a day when both you and Dean are on morphine!"

"Well, I don't fucking mutate into a crazy interior designer or an american idol!" Emily protested.

This time John laughed, both at Emily's apt description of a drugged Dean and what he imagined Missouri's reaction would be, to this hitherto unseen Emily, who was uninhibited, impenitent, and impertinent. "Missouri is going to love you!" he said ironically.

"That's because I'm fucking adorable!" Emily announced seriously, the irony in John's words flying over her head.

"Who's delusional now?" Dean asked as the door swung open. He was unashamedly riding in the wheel chair pushed by the viking nurse from before. It turned out the man was the biggest softie in the hospital, even though the other nurses often used him as a kind of Terminator prop because of his size. He had successfully intimidated many wayward individuals just by his presence, and had never had anyone see through his bluff as quickly as the Winchesters had. He was called Clark, a name that had cracked Dean up when he heard it. "First we meet Thor, now Superman?" he had snickered. Sam had rolled his eyes, and apologised to Clark, who had shrugged it off with a smile.

Emily grinned, happy to be heading home. "Damn! Guess you rubbed off on me!" she quipped as she remembered calling Dean delusional for thinking himself adorable. She shook hands with Clark whom she hadn't officially met.

"Please, for the sake of my sanity, don't let any more of him rub off on you. I can't handle two moronic Neanderthal siblings!" Sam grumbled good-naturedly.

Dean protested and glared at him. John chuckled at his children's antics.

"Got everything?" he asked.

Sam waved the bag of medicine and dressings. "No thanks to him, by the way!" he said of Dean.

"I brought the wheelchair!" Dean protested.

"Really?" four different voices exclaimed. John's, Sam's and Emily's eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Dean sighed and got out of the chair. "Sheesh, a guy's work is never appreciated!" he grumbled softly.

Holding back all the complaints that came to mind, Emily carefully slid off the bed and replaced him. Now was not the time to assert her independence; she was as high as a kite, and hence highly uncoordinated and she was in the company of three extremely stubborn and protective men. She wasn't sure about Clark, but since he was big enough to lift a horse, she was not going to test him either.

"Where's Nimbus?" she demanded belligerently when they got to the pick up area and Dean drove the impala over.

"Who or what the hell is Nimbus?" Sam asked.

"The truck. John's truck!" Emily answered regretting her candour as soon as the words left her mouth.

"You named my truck?" John asked, a smile colouring his voice. He didn't know what to make of that.

Emily flushed and mumbled yeah.

"You're a bigger dork than Dean!" Sam teased her.

"Hey, I'm not a dork!" Dean protested loudly, getting out of the car to help Sam fold Emily carefully into the back seat.

"Are too!" Emily giggled, deciding that getting one over Dean was better than defending herself.

"Hey, be careful with that arm! Just because you're full of morphine and can't feel it, doesn't mean you can't hurt it." Clark cautioned the siblings.

"What about my car? Did you name it?" Dean whispered to Emily.

Sam heard him and snickered, "Dork!"

Dean threw his hands up in a huff. He hadn't meant for Sam to hear that! But apparently Sam had bat ears!

"Of course not!" Emily denied. It was a lie. Of course she'd named the impala. Her name was Storm, at least in Emily's mind.

"Why not?" Dean couldn't help asking.

"Well, you already call her baby!" she explained, as Dean closed the door and went round to the driver's side.

"It's just an endearment!" Sam explained as if she was a candle short of a menorah.

She rolled her eyes. "I know that!" She waved at Clark who waved back enthusiastically, no doubt glad to be rid of the intimidating men.

John rode shotgun, closing his eyes as soon as the car started moving. Emily asked her burning question two minutes into the journey. "So, what's the plan?"

"Mmmm?" John murmured without opening his eyes, while Dean looked into the rearview mirror with a puzzled look on his face.

"What are we going to do? About me, I mean. The full moon is in eleven days!"

Between the terrifying screaming episode, then trying to clear his name with Dr. Mehta, and getting Emily cleared to leave, John hadn't gotten a chance to tell Emily about Missouri. He sat up with a tired sigh, run a hand through his hair and proceeded to explain to Emily what Missouri had explained to them. He wondered how much of it was really registering in her drugged mind.

Emily listened as intently as the fuzz created by the drugs could allow. She got the basic gist of the explanation, and as soon as John finished talking, she asked, "Do you think it'll work?"

"Yes!" all three men answered.

Even drugged, she could hear the uncertainty in their answers, even though they spoke with as much conviction as they could. Their faith in miracles was shaky and unsure. Unlike them, Emily didn't need to have faith in miracles. She had unshakeable faith in her family. She would hold onto that.


	17. Chapter 16

Victoria Keating drove to the cabin in Sioux Falls. She knew her sons had failed. She knew they were dead. Nothing short of death could keep Hunter, ever the dutiful son, from calling in an update. It was him who'd told her about the cabin. They had found it the first night in Sioux Falls through sheer luck. Used to camping out, they'd been ready to spend another night under the trees and stars, when Gunner, who was the most comfortable in his wolf skin, had changed and gone for a run. He'd come across the cabin not too far from where his brothers had decided to set up camp. From the smell of it, he knew it hadn't been occupied in a long time. He'd returned and reluctantly told Hunter about it. Gunner didn't care much for walls, and the only reason he'd shared his find was for his youngest brother, Archer. The kid loved amenities, and found comfort in enclosed spaces. If Gunner hadn't seen him change, he'd never have believed Archer was a verumnat.

Hunter had made the executive decision for them to move into the cabin.

During the next three days, they'd watched their prey. It had quickly become evident that there was no mother, and that the hunter's children were fit and trained in combat if their sparring and training sessions were any indication. That development had given Carver pause. He was the most cautious of the four, and was given to making intricate plans that drove his brothers crazy. The same information had, unsurprisingly, had the opposite effect on Gunner. The hothead of the four, he had been even more fired up at the prey's abilities. He'd always liked challenges, and even though he'd been willing and happy to kill the hunter's children at his mother's request, he had become positively ecstatic at what he thought was going to be an actual hunt and not a one sided massacre. He'd also expressed some rather disgusting things that he wanted to do to the girl before he ripped out her throat. He and Archer had fought over that, because the latter, the youngest, and the softest had not wanted to hurt the girl who he undoubtedly had a crush on.

Though concerned about Gunner's sadist tendencies, and Carver and Archer's misgivings, Victoria had ordered Hunter to go ahead with the ambush, after all, they were verumnat, they were strong and fast. She'd not heard back from him or his brothers. Obviously they had not been successful. It was evident that she had greatly underestimated the prowess of John Winchester's spawn. She knew she should feel grief for her children's passing, and maybe a part of her did, but the hate she felt surpassed any other emotion. She was going to kill John's children herself. He would live with the pain of losing all he held dear in the world. Her hate would give her strength. Too bad it didn't give her the ability to transform at will like her sons. She'd have to wait till the full moon. Well, she'd use the time to plot and this time she was going to use all the weapons in her arsenal.

* * *

><p>"It just doesn't add up!" Sam who'd been musing about Emily's lack of healing spoke aloud, his tone frustrated. While he hadn't spoken exceptionally loud, the sudden sound in the quiet car startled everyone.<p>

"The hell, Sam!" Dean shouted in surprise as he straightened out the car, that had swerved when he'd startled. It was a good thing theirs was the only car on the road. They were about seven minutes from the turn to the yard.

"Guys, please, don't yell!" Emily grumbled softly. Leaning against Sam, she'd been valiantly fighting sleep, ending up in that content, lazy, easily irritated state between wakefulness and slumber.

"Sorry," Sam apologised quickly.

"What are you going on about anyway?" John groaned, just as irritated as Emily, if not more, because he had managed to fall asleep in the short time.

"Sorry, it's nothing!" he answered quickly.

John looked around, "Stop the car!" he ordered.

"What? Why?" Dean asked even as he flicked on his right turn signal and parked the car by the roadside.

"That cabin you boys found? I think that back there is the turn off leading to it. I might as well go and check it out, and I think I should bring the van to the yard. Leaving it there is probably not a good idea."

"I can make a U-turn and drive us there."

"No, I'll leg it. Element of surprise, in case there's someone else snooping around. Get your sister home."

Dean made to argue about back-up, but changed his mind. "Yes, sir!" he answered making his siblings' jaws tick. They hated it when he spoke like he was their father's subordinate, and hated it even more that John seemed to encourage it. But it was a long entrenched dynamic between the two that neither Sam or Emily could change no matter how much they disliked it.

John slammed the door shut and after a moment of watching him walk away without so much as a backward glance, Dean sighed and drove off.

At the yard, Bobby walked into the kitchen from the panic room which he had been prepping. "They won't go for it!" he warned. After all, he too was having trouble with Missouri's suggestion.

"Well, here they come. We might as well test it." Missouri washed her hands.

"We? It's your idea! I'll be in the safety of my study."

"You want me to handle this on my own?"

"Self-preservation!" Bobby corrected as he headed off. No way was he the one telling John that his daughter be kept in the panic room like a convict, even though he and Missouri had tricked it out as much as they could to make it more comfortable. Missouri could get away with making the announcement, only because John, on principle, didn't hit women and neither did his sons.

Dean parked the car in front of the house and spoke down to Rumsfeld through his open window. "Sit, boy! Rae's hurt, so don't go leaping up at her!"

The dog that had been barking eagerly went quiet and sat. Emily needed help getting out of the car without jarring her injured arm too much, but she waved away the rest of her brothers' assistance as she was not as uncoordinated as she'd been leaving the hospital. Still, they hovered close to her as she carefully but lovingly petted Rumsfeld, and as she walked up the few steps. She jokingly bemoaned the lack of a welcome home sign.

"Samantha and Roberta couldn't agree on the colour of glitter to use, so we gave it up!" Dean joked.

"The glitter wouldn't have been an issue if Deanna here hadn't insisted on having a theme!" Sam retorted.

Emily was still giggling when they entered the house.

Missouri walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing. The three Winchesters stopped short.

"Hey Missouri," the boys stuttered. Missouri smiled in greeting back at them and turned to Emily.

"Hello Miss Moseley." Emily greeted her politely.

"You call me Missouri, dear child."

At the word child, Emily glanced questioningly at her brothers. They both nodded nearly imperceptibly in a 'just go with it' gesture. Both knew it wasn't a battle worth fighting. Besides, Missouri used the word as an endearment and not as a slur.

"Well, look at you! Still as pretty as a picture!" Missouri grabbed Emily's uninjured hand and beamed up at her. "And a lot more adjusted! The last time we met, you were a whirl storm of emotions!"

Again Emily looked to her brothers for help or advice. Dean ducked his head and hurriedly detoured upstairs even though he had been intending to go to the kitchen to look for something to eat. He was thankful he was not the centre of Missouri's attention, and he was going to keep it that way as long as he could. Sam gently patted Emily's back comfortingly, muttered 'good-luck' then skirted round the two women to follow his brother.

Emily looked bereft and lost while Missouri chuckled. "I think they're worried I'll go after them with my spoon. But I won't, unless they give me a reason to. And by the way, that goes for you too missy! Don't think you being a girl means I'll treat you different."

Emily was speechless. The Missouri she remembered hadn't been like this. While she had not been unkind the way Cece had during their first meeting, Missouri had not exactly been warm or inviting either. There had been a polite offer of tea which Emily had accepted just as politely, and when she had informed the woman about the reason of her visit, Missouri had been as precise, factual and professional as an accountant, giving Emily Bobby's address and wishing her well in her quest to find John Winchester. Missouri certainly hadn't used any endearments, and Emily really did not know what to make of them or Missouri now. And her brothers, her anchors had run off without explanation. So she stood stiff, closed off and a little wary like she did when she did not understand or trust a situation.

As she had before, Missouri read the girl easily. Right now, Emily was confused and suspicious of Missouri and her intentions, and who could blame her considering how standoffish Missouri had been during their first meeting. "Oh honey, I know you're thinking about our first meeting, and I don't blame you for being suspicious. I wasn't very nice to you, was I?"

"Umm, you were very kind." Emily chose her words carefully.

"My, my, you're quite diplomatic, aren't you? Your daddy could learn a think or two from you! Yes, I was kind, but that's not quite the same as being nice."

Emily considered the woman's words. She was surprised that Missouri was not denying her poor behaviour, nor was she apologising for it, or making excuses. "Why weren't you?" she finally asked, deciding that if Missouri was acknowledging her behaviour, then she could too.

"What can I say? Every single one of us has been foolish at one time or another!" Missouri said with a small shrug.

Emily couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped her lips. She had been expecting one of those 'I thought I was doing the right thing by you' kinds of justification or at the very least an excuse. This candid, almost tongue-in-cheek unapologetic explanation had thrown her delightfully. "I hear you, I'm frequently foolish so if you've been foolish only one time or another, then clearly, you're the better person!" she smiled.

Missouri's laugh was a happy trill that made Emily's smile widen and her eyes dance with laughter. And in that moment, the kinship between Emily, and the three Winchester men was suddenly apparent to Missouri. She released Emily's hand and grabbed her into a hug. At first Emily stiffened in surprise, then she melted into the embrace, bending to hug the shorter woman with her right arm. Aside from the perfunctory goodbye hug from Madeline after the poltergeist case in Pendleton, Oregon, Emily had not been hugged by a woman since leaving home and Jackie and Wade, and now in Missouri's warm embrace, she felt something loosen and grow in her chest, until it exploded suddenly in loud unbidden sobs.

Missouri was not startled by the sudden heartfelt sobs because she knew exactly what Emily was feeling. The girl loved the new family she had found, loved them with a hot passion Missouri could feel even without her psychic powers, but still, Emily missed her late parents, she missed their easy gentleness and their softness, and more than anything, she desperately longed for a mother's touch. Missouri was glad and humbled that she could temporarily bring this small comfort to the girl.

Sam and Dean raced down the stairs and Bobby popped out of the study.

"What happened? What did you do?" they all asked, the boys with thunderous glares on their faces, Bobby a little more mildly.

"No, no, she didn't do anything!" Emily chocked out hurriedly, extricating herself from Missouri's arms and wiping her face with a slightly embarrassed look.

"So why are you crying?" Dean asked, not convinced in the least. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing his sister's tears without his heart clenching painfully. Besides, despite being girly and soft, Emily was not the kind of girl who cried at the drop of a hat.

"I don't know!" Emily wailed. "I just … I … oh you wouldn't understand!"

Dean knew she meant nothing by it, but he still felt oddly hurt by that statement. Bobby nodded and sidled back into the study.

"It's something we can't give her." Sam whispered in explanation to his brother. He knew Dean would not understand, not because he was dumb, but because he needed to be everything for everyone; a saviour for the people they helped, a soldier and right hand man for John, a brother, parent, friend, protector and mentor for Sam and for Emily, and a martyr for everyone's causes. Bobby was probably the only person in Dean's life that he didn't feel any pressure to be anything but himself, and yet, even with him, Dean layered himself with defences. Sam had repeatedly tried and failed to make Dean understand that he didn't constantly need to prove himself, at least not to Sam and Emily. John was a different story entirely. And now, Sam didn't know how to tell Dean, without hurting his feelings or making him feel inadequate, that what Emily needed was a mother, and he couldn't be that for her, no one could. Not even Missouri.

Despite what Sam thought, Dean understood, probably even better than Sam did and ever would. Because even now, more than twenty years later, Dean still missed their mother with an intensity that sometimes had the ability to make him lose his breath. While he had only had his mother for four short years, compared to Emily's almost eighteen years, he could commiserate with Emily in a way Sam couldn't because Sam, emphatic though he was, had never really known their mother, and didn't miss her the way Dean did. He may have been a child then, but Dean remembered the year right after Mary's death as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Their father had been absent, lost in his grief and might as well have been dead too, and so Dean had clung to Sam, and loved him with an almost scary ferocity that had never dissipated. He had also resisted mothering. So he understood, because he could see parallels in his behaviour then and Emily's now. Her fierce attachment to him, Sam and Bobby, was like his to Sam, her willingness to overlook the faults of those she loved was exactly what he'd done with John. Even her reaction to Missouri, a mother-figure if ever there was one, while not negative like his had been, was just as passionate. Yes, Emily was in the same club he was. It was a club with a very steep membership fee.

"Come on, let's go." Sam said gently. Dean allowed himself to be herded up the stairs.

"I'm sorry." Emily whispered to Missouri when her brothers disappeared.

"Don't be silly, child! Everyone needs a good cry every once in a while!" Missouri patted her back.

"But I've been doing a lot more of it lately." Emily sighed softly. "But just so you know, I'm not usually like this!" she defended herself quickly.

"I'm sure you're not!" Missouri said with no condescension. "But under the circumstances, your emotions are more than justified. And honey, I know you're scared and worried, about what you may become, but you shouldn't be."

Emily turned anxious eyes onto the woman. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one who might Hulk out."

"Hulk out? I won't even pretend I get that reference!" Missouri smiled. "So, are you hungry? Bobby made some of his legendary chilli, and I made chicken fried steak."

Emily smiled at the change in subject. "Wow, that sounds delicious. But I got fed just before I left the hospital, and more than anything, I would really love to have a proper shower. Dean must be hungry though! When I get upstairs I'll tell him what's on the menu. Prepare for a one man stampede!"

"Hey, honey, wait! I've taken over your room."

Emily was not surprised. She'd learnt from her friends who had siblings, that a visit from an out of town relative or family friend meant a change in room allocation; someone had to leave their room to the visitors and bunk in with another sibling or siblings. Usually it was the youngest or the one who had a room to themselves. In this case, Emily fitted both criteria so it made sense that she was the one to give up her room. She didn't really mind, as long as she was allowed access to her things.

"That's okay. I'm fine sharing a room with the odd couple, and I've been on a fair number of camping trips so I can take sleeping on the ground." She knew there was no way a third bed, could fit in the boys' room.

"You're not going to be bunking with your brothers either." Missouri decided she might as well let Emily know her sleeping arrangement.

"Oh! I thought … well, I guess it'll be fine sharing with you." Emily began graciously though she was a little sceptical at having to share a room with a near stranger. Still, she couldn't help asking in concern, "You don't snore, do you?"

Missouri laughed, "Actually, I do. But that's neither here nor there." She sighed breathily, "I believe, it's in everyone's best interests that you use the panic room in the meantime."

There was a stunned silence as Emily assimilated that information. It didn't take her long to decide that there was merit in the suggestion. However, she doubted the others would feel the same. "That's going to be a hard sell!" she mused imagining her brothers' and John's reactions. "But I'll back you up," she added. If bunking in the panic room kept her from hurting anyone, then she'd gladly do it.

She bounded up the stairs and into her room, to get her bath things and when she stepped out again, she found her brothers standing in the doorway of their own room.

"You okay?" Dean asked softly.

She smiled. "Yeah! I'm fine! I'm going to have a shower," she looked down at her arm, "no, make that a bath."

"A few minutes ago you were … now you're … seriously, you're bipolar!" Dean complained, though the relief in his voice was obvious. Emily poked her tongue out at him and he smiled.

"Need any help?" Sam asked.

"What?" she exclaimed. The idea of her brothers helping her with her shower was cringe inducing. "No! No! I'll be fine, I'll prop it out of the way. Oh and by the way, there's chilli and chicken fried steak."

"Which I bet Missouri is guarding like Smaug with his gold!" Dean grumbled.

"You've read The Hobbit?" Emily was surprised.

"Yeah, well, I thought it was about a dragon!" Dean answered with a glare in Sam's direction.

Emily's amused peal of laughter rang through the house, and was soon joined by Dean's guffaw and Sam's weird cackle. In the kitchen, Bobby and Missouri shared a smile, marvelling at the resilience and optimism of youth.

In the meantime, moving carefully and using the trees for cover, John reached the cabin. Despite knowing that his sons had done a complete sweep of it when they'd been there, and that everything they'd found, they'd put in the van outside, John still carefully walked through all the rooms. It wasn't that he didn't trust his sons, because he did, he was just putting off returning to the yard, because for the first time since he could remember, he felt like a failure. Not only had he not been there for his children, but now that he was around, there was nothing he could do to help; Missouri was the one with the plan and the cure, and Bobby was the one with the home, and the one they turned to for comfort if they didn't get it from each other. John had brought nothing to the table except himself, and he wasn't exactly a useful commodity right then.

Of course the boys had missed nothing, a fact John was extremely proud of. He emerged from the cabin and movement to his right made him squint into the bushes there. Flicking the safety off his gun, he went to investigate. If the phone hadn't started ringing, he would never have seen it, hidden as it was by a shrub. He swung his gun in defensive sweeping arcs before crouching and retrieving the phone. He debated about answering it for all of five seconds. "Hello?"

The woman watched John with hate filled eyes. Only self preservation kept her from launching herself at him. The only powers she retained in her human state were heightened senses of smell and sight which made tracking prey easy, and an accelerated healing rate which wouldn't protect her against a silver bullet in the heart, or a severed head. And while she was gradually growing stronger in the days leading to the full moon, she wasn't by any means at her strongest yet, and the hunter in front of her was not a man to be trifled with. Still, her anger couldn't let her just ignore him until she was strong enough to take him on, and besides, messing with an opponent usually gave one a slight advantage. So she had left the phone in the bush close to the cabin hoping he would find it and answer it. She had wanted to leave it on the porch when he was inside the house, but decided against that, as it left her exposed and vulnerable. When he answered it, with a growled hello that sent shivers down her back, she had to steel herself to speak.

"John Winchester," her saccharine voice dripped with hate.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Guess!" it was said almost playfully.

"I hate playing games, but I'm betting you're the bitch who sent those dogs after my children. You know I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, right?"

"I'd like to see you try, you bastard!" the playfulness was gone, the voice was now hard.

"Show yourself then," John dared.

"I'm not an idiot!"

John laughed, the sound cynical and hollow. "You could have fooled me then!"

"You killed my husband, and your children killed mine, but I'm not going to kill you John. I'm going to take away every single thing you hold dear. I hope you've said your goodbyes to your sons. As for that pretty little daughter of yours, I won't even need to touch her! She'll soon be one of us, so you'll have two choices, kill her or let her rip out your heart. Either choice works for me!"

"One of you, huh? I don't think so! You really have no idea who you're messing with, do you?" John spat, pure hate lacing his words. "My children can look after themselves … I mean look, despite the odds, they took down your wolf boys. As for me, well, I can't remember your husband specifically, but obviously it didn't end well for him when we met. Now, I'd tell you to run, to go and live your life, but sooner or later, me or another hunter will get you anyway, so you might as well die for your cause, which is not something I can say for many of your kind!" John paused, and when there was no reply, he continued with a smirk on his face, "In other words, bring it, bitch!"

The woman hang up the phone. With a grim chuckle and his gun at the ready, John carefully back-stepped to the van, got in and drove away.

Back at the yard, Emily done with her shower, dressed up. She wore a sleeveless shirt dress as it was the only thing she could get over her arm. Trying to get a bra on had been a lesson in futility, so she'd gone without, and for the first time since her breasts had come in, she was thankful she was not more endowed. With one hand, she awkwardly buttoned the dress all the way to the top, and crossed over to her brothers' room in time to hear Sam snap, "You're a fucking disturbance, Dean! If I throw a stick, will you leave?"

Grinning madly at the comment, Emily knocked on the door and entered when she heard Sam grunt "What?"

He had been trying to read while Dean, bored and ignored, had been making obnoxious sounds by extending his lower lip and hitting it with a finger. Both brothers perked up at her appearance, each hoping she'd distract Dean or go with him to do some outdoorsy thing or other.

"I need help washing my hair!" she announced.

"I thought you were done with your bath?" Dean questioned mildly, disappointment rife in his words. He'd hoped she had come to relieve his boredom.

"Yeah, I am, that's why I'm dressed!" she spoke in a duh voice, "I tried to wash my hair too, but no dice, all I managed to do was muss it even more. So I really need help. Pleeease!"

"Sure, I'll do it." Sam offered.

"Hang on to your precious book Belle!" Dean snarked at Sam, still upset at having been ignored before. "I'll do it!"

"You!" both Sam and Emily stared at him askance.

"What? I know how to wash hair. I wash mine everyday!"

"Your hair is like a centimetre long!" Emily pointed out.

"I used to wash Sammy's hair when he was little!" was Dean's counterargument.

"That is hardly the same thing!" Sam protested.

"Yeah! Unless he had hair down to his back?" the inflexion at the end of Emily's statement made it almost a question.

"I did not!" Sam was affronted.

"How hard can it be?" Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed Emily's uninjured arm and propelled her out of the room. He did not hear Sam's soft snicker.

Well, it wasn't hard, but it was harder than Dean had thought it would be. Between Emily's gazillion detailed instructions coming at him warbled by the water, between lathering and conditioning and detangling what felt like five hundred yards of curly hair on a fifty foot girl who wouldn't stop moving despite being hunched over a bathtub, between her indignant squeals when water accidentally trickled down her neck during the rinsing process, and between the loudness of the hairdryer, Dean decided he'd rather have hunted a wendigo. At least that was something he had the experience, instincts and temperament for. But to see the radiant look on Emily's face when she run her hands through her hair, and to hear her call him awesome, he knew he'd gladly do it again if she asked.

"Now let's go eat! I'm starving!" he announced.

"You're a bottomless pit!" she laughed.


	18. Chapter 17

Dean and Emily had just eagerly crossed the threshold of the kitchen when John drove into the yard.

"Damn, I was so looking forward to that chicken fried steak!" Dean grumped as they headed outside instead.

"Relax, it's already cooked, it's not going anywhere!" Emily smiled.

Dean's answer was a muttered grumble about fathers with bad timing and no respect for food.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Wow, you're so cheerful when you're hungry."

The sound of the strange sputtering vehicle had drawn everyone outside, even Sam.

"So what're we going to do with it?" he asked.

"Bobby?" John turned to the man.

"You're the one who drove it here. What was your plan?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"My plan was not to have it parked in a stranger's driveway and have them call the police when they found it."

"Genius plan, Sherlock!" Bobby said sarcastically.

Dean's lips quirked slightly, Sam just barely kept a straight face, and Emily emitted a hastily aborted snort of laughter then tried to rearrange her face into a deadpan expression. John attempted to glare at them, but it was hard to look in those three twinkling pairs of eyes and glare successfully, so he gave it up.

"We'll take it apart … obviously!" Bobby began, refraining from rolling his eyes. He sounded like someone who couldn't believe he'd been saddled with a bunch of dunderheads, but his eyes were soft with fondness. "Gut it, keep some parts for spares and junk the rest."

"Isn't that a crime?" Missouri asked.

Five pairs of incredulous eyes turned to look at her.

"Just in case the memo got misplaced somewhere, we're not exactly the Brady Bunch!" Dean spoke unable to hide a happy grin. He loved living on the fringes of the law.

"Yeah, just about everything we do is illegal." Sam added, his voice tinged with slight distaste. He wasn't quite as ecstatic as Dean about the life they lived.

"I may consort with hunters and the like, but I've never been an accessory to an actual crime." Missouri huffed.

"Well, technically, it's a cover up of a crime!" Emily pointed out.

"Not helping, guys!" John growled, managing to glare this time. The siblings looked chastened. John turned back to Missouri. "Please, you don't have to take part in this, just don't leave."

Sam and Dean stared open mouthed. They'd never heard their father beg before.

Missouri took a deep breath before speaking. "I said I'd help, and I will. I'm just not taking apart any cars!"

"Good!" John said emphatically. In John speak, the word doubled as a thank you, and an I owe you one.

"Well, before we start our chop shop, can we have some grab first?" Dean asked optimistically.

"I could eat!" Bobby shrugged.

They all trooped back inside. Missouri wanted everyone to eat together at a dining table, but Bobby's house had no dining room. Connecting from the kitchen through the sliding door was an open plan multi-purpose room that had, before Karen's death, been a living room and dining area. It was now a large study/ library complete with shelves, side tables, chairs, a huge desk and a worn couch for nights spent researching. Books, old and new, overflowed from the shelves and tables and onto the chairs, couch and the floor. Even the armoire that had probably housed Karen's nice china, had been repurposed to house books, and antique decanters full of liquids that could be anything from whisky to lighter fuel. The fireplace was probably functional, but it was tarnished with age, full of ashes and the chimney was blocked. No way was that room going to be reverted to its original state any time soon.

However, Missouri was not to be deterred. She decided to use the table in the kitchen as a temporary dining table, making the Winchester men and Bobby carry in mismatched chairs from the study and the den, while she and Emily set the table.

"I hope we're not expected to dress up!" Sam quipped.

"That food better be worth this!" Dean grumbled.

"I doubt any food is worth this!" John growled. He, like the other men couldn't remember the last time they'd sat at a dining table, even a makeshift one. Their meals were usually consumed as they researched or as they planned a hunt or at the very least, with the distraction of the TV. Taking time out doing nothing but eating seemed like such a waste of time. Besides, it was likely to be awkward; what would they talk about? There was no way Missouri would countenance talk of hunting or any related topics.

The meal wasn't a bad experience actually; the conversation flowed and managed to stay light, and the food was great. There were calls of appreciation around the table, and even Dean overcame his usual reticence with Missouri to compliment her on the meal.

She smiled, "I'm glad you liked it. It wasn't easy making such fine food in a kitchen with appliances older than Jesus!"

"Well, unlike you, I can't afford cauldrons!" Bobby retorted gruffly.

Dean, Sam and Emily valiantly tried to hold in their laughter, exploding with relieved mirth when both John and Missouri laughed.

After the meal, she coerced Dean into cleanup duty, while she headed upstairs for a lie-in. John and Bobby went outside to begin taking apart the van.

"Go join them, I can wash up." Sam offered to take Dean's place after seeing him glance longingly out the window.

"Pfft, she asked me to do it, and I don't want to be turned into a frog or something!" Dean said bobbing his head in the direction of the door Missouri had disappeared through.

Emily giggled, "Wait? You read The Frog Prince too? What did you think that one was about before you started reading it?"

"No, that one isn't on me!" Dean protested, "I got it for Sam, back when we were kids. He made me read the damn thing to him every night for weeks!" Dean answered.

"I did not!" Sam objected.

"You probably don't remember!" Dean laughed. "I read you the Emperor's New Clothes for about five days before you began demanding another story, so I returned to the book store to swipe another for you, but it seemed all the story books there were about princesses and fairies, and even though you probably wouldn't have minded, I did, so I got the only one that had prince in its title. Turned out to be a princess story too! You loved it! I returned and got Hansel and Gretel. Now that one was good. It had some action in it and the witch got fried at the end. You hated it!"

Yes, that one Sam remembered because it had given him nightmares for days and turned him off candy. He'd been quite relieved when Dean had moved onto Peter Pan, which had become his favourite.

"You stole story books?" Emily asked with more curiosity than censure.

Dean shrugged, and snorted. "Well, they weren't even a blip on dad's budget, and Sammy loved stories, so … it was either that or borrow them, and dad wasn't big on getting library cards either."

Emily's heart clenched as she was once again reminded that even though Sam and Dean were her brothers, their childhood experiences had been so far removed from hers. Not for the first time, she was glad they'd had each other, each receiving from the relationship exactly what he needed. Love, attention and protection in Sam's case and love, validation and purpose in Dean's.

Sam was floored. He'd never even asked where the books had come from. Like so many things in his childhood, he'd taken them for granted. Just like he'd taken Dean for granted, never fully realising till now how much his brother had done for him, how he'd sheltered him, what he'd given up for him. No matter how many sacrifices Sam made, he knew he would still be in his brother's debt. Not that Dean expected or wanted any sacrifices from Sam. Nor did he expect appreciation or acknowledgment for his. Sam knew he would be called cheesy or girly, if he voiced what he was feeling to Dean so he kept his thoughts to himself choosing instead to continue the thread of the conversation without missing a beat.

"So what was your favourite story growing up?" he asked Emily, as he casually picked up a kitchen towel and began to dry the dishes as Dean placed them in the rack.

"Man, I was a fickle child. My tastes changed all the time!" she laughed. "Still, I absolutely loved the Madeline series. They were the one constant. I still have the books somewhere."

"Madeline? Haven't heard of that one."

"What?" Emily managed to fill the word with disbelief and dismay.

"Bet she is a princess!" Dean snorted.

"Actually no! She's a just a girl. No, she's not just a girl, she's a _girl … _one of the coolest girls there ever was. Seriously, I wanted to be her. For the longest time I wanted straight red hair, an appendectomy scar I could be crazy proud of, and I wanted to go to a Catholic boarding school in Paris!"

"Boarding school? That's nuts! Why would you want that?"

"Anything I tell you will definitely get lost in translation," she smiled at Dean's incredulity. "But believe me, there was something about Madeline that was just so relatable for me as a child. She was amazing."

"If you say so!" Dean shrugged. To each their own. He'd always liked stories where the big bad got its ass kicked. That was why he'd always preferred comics to storybooks.

As soon as he got the last plate onto the rack, he was out of the door like a shot.

"You're welcome!" Sam called after him.

"I don't think he heard you!" Emily laughed.

"I suppose you're itching to go too!"

"Of course!" It wasn't everyday that they tore apart a vehicle, and she was a closet delinquent when it came to destroying things.

"Of course!" Sam repeated, rolling his eyes. He didn't have the same enthusiasm for cars as his siblings and his father did. Cars were good for getting him from one place to another, period! He finished putting away the dishes, then went upstairs to his room to retrieve the book he'd been reading earlier, before venturing outside.

Emily was seated on a stable car wreck, watching the three men working. Rumsfeld was practically in her lap and she occasionally rubbed behind his ears, an act she performed without conscious thought. Sam sat on the steps close by and buried his head in his book. Every so often, he read her something he'd found interesting or funny. He liked hearing her laugh, and her take on things was sometimes so out there that it often made him wish he'd met her during her formative years.

They'd been there only ten minutes when Emily realised that the medication was wearing off, because pain was beginning to curl round her conscious. She could understand the pain in her broken arm, but the burning sensation in her right arm was unexplainable. She glanced down at her watch. There was still another twenty-two minutes until she could take her next dose of happy pills. She knew she had to power through the pain because the possible consequence of taking medication prematurely was dependency, and she did not want to add an avoidable problem like addiction upon the inevitable problems the family business of hunting brought. So wincing slightly, she repeated the mind over matter mantra in her head.

Sam caught the wince only because he had looked up at that precise moment to share another of the author's anecdotes. "You okay?" he asked concernedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" she spoke nonchalantly, but there was a slight catch that made Sam suspicious.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she repeated herself. He decided to let it go for the moment and watched her from the corner of his eye. She seemed okay, and after a while he began to think he had just been projecting his own anxiety. He relaxed his discreet surveillance and returned to his book. So ten minutes later, it was with shock and alarm that he noticed the sweat on her forehead and the white knuckled fist she'd made. He shook his head. God, his family were gluttons for pain and punishment. He hadn't imagined Emily would have the same flaw since she hadn't been raised by John Tough-it-it Suck-it-up Winchester, but maybe spending time with them had rubbed off on her.

"Rae, you're not okay!" he couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"I'm … aaargh!"

The short but pain filled exclamation propelled Sam off the steps and to her side. His movements attracted the others. Emily was breathing in gasps in an attempt to temper the pain and concentrating on not crying.

"Jesus! Why didn't you say something? You've got the medication for this!" John growled at her. He turned to Dean. "Go get the drugs."

"It's not yet time for my next dose."Emily spoke through gritted teeth.

"Don't be an idiot!" John exploded, his fear and concern as usual erupting as anger.

Even though they were clouded with pain, Emily's eyes still flickered with hurt and indignation at John's words.

"John!" Bobby spoke softly, but the warning was clear in the voice.

John bit down on his lip to keep the anger in.

"What Mr. Sensitivity here is trying to say is, there's no point in being in pain when you've got medicine for it." Bobby continued.

"I don't want to develop drug dependency!"

Sam snorted, caught between laughing and sobbing at his sister's ridiculous logic. "What? So you'd rather go into shock? God, as much as I hate taking dad's side, he's right, you're an idiot! You think you're going to develop an addiction on my watch, let alone Dean's?"

Emily managed a wan sheepish smile at Sam, "Sorry."

He reached down and squeezed her uninjured hand in solidarity. The scream she emitted was so loud and so pain filled that all three men drew back in horror. Her eyes began to roll into the back of her head, but by sheer force of will and a burning need not to appear weak in front of John again, she did not pass out. Still, involuntary tears leaked out of her eyes.

"What the hell, Rae?" Sam gasped in shock.

Dean followed by Missouri got there in time to hear Emily sniff. "I don't know! My arm is burning! I don't understand why." She sounded like a hurt confused child.

"Give me your hand," Sam said softly. Emily hesitated. "Come on," Sam cajoled gently.

Emily reluctantly held out her hand. It was shaking badly. Even though Sam held it gently, Emily still had to grit her teeth against the pain and to keep from crying out. Sam carefully removed the bandaid on Emily's pinkie to reveal the ring.

Shock and understanding flickered across everyone's face. It was amazing how they'd all completely forgotten about it. And how seeing it now explained everything. It was the reason why Emily wasn't healing and why she was in such pain. Silver was toxic to werewolves, even in small doses.

"Shit, Rae, I'm so sorry." Dean gulped.

"Language boy! And it's not just your fault. I should have considered the possibility that she had silver on her some where!" Missouri admonished kindly and shouldered the blame together with Dean.

"You didn't know about the ring. We did."

"It's not your fault Dean. It's not anyone's fault. Heck, I forgot about it and I'm the one wearing it!" Emily tried to smile reassuringly but it fell short. The pain was hard to ignore.

"I was the one who told the nurses to tape it." Dean was evidently not going to forgive himself easily.

"Because they would have taken it off if you hadn't! And we both know the consequence of that. You made the right call." Emily glared at him. Sweet Pythagoras, did he have to take the blame for everything?

"All that's besides the point!" Missouri interrupted the simultaneous pity party and clash of opinion. "Take it off!" she said of the ring, not really understanding its significance.

Like an unthinking automaton, Emily brought her hand to her mouth intending to take the ring off with her teeth because she couldn't use her injured left hand.

"No!" Dean called out. John was more proactive. He reached out and smacked at Emily's hand away from her mouth.

This time Emily passed out from the searing pain, and it was just as well she was out because she toppled off the car and hit the ground injured arm first.

"Shit!" John swore, taking a dismayed step back before kneeling by Emily's side with everyone else.

"Jesus Christ, John!" Missouri screamed at him, "Did you have to do that?"

"Get her inside!" Bobby, ever the voice of reason, spoke.

Sam hefted Emily into his arms and stood. Before walking to the door, he graced his father with the king of glares.

Dean stepped ahead of Sam and opened the door for him. Bobby and Missouri followed, and a subdued, guilty looking John brought up the rear of the group, sidestepping into the study once inside the house.

"No, take her downstairs; to the panic room!" Bobby instructed when Dean and Sam started to head for the stairs leading to the second floor. Both brothers stopped short and turned to stare at him. "Yeah, you heard me! Don't stand there like you've got leaky brain pans! That ring's gotta come off and the panic room is the best place for that to happen." he added dryly.

Knowing he was right, the brothers changed direction, heading downstairs to the basement where the panic room was located. Like before, Dean led the way turning on lights as he went. He threw open the panic room door and once again stopped short. Sam peeked over his brother's shoulder and his mouth fell open.

"Bobby?" Dean questioned, a hurt quality easily detectable in his voice.

"I take it you've not told them!" Bobby turned to Missouri with a sigh. So now it was up to him to break the news. The damn woman was cunning, he had to give her that.

"It just hadn't come up yet. Emily knows, though." Missouri answered nonchalantly.

"Knows what? What's going on? Why are some of Rae's things in here?" Dean demanded.

"She's going to be using this room until she's cured. We decided it was for the best." Bobby answered.

"For the best? Decided? You didn't even discuss this with us." It was then that Dean fully acknowledged John's absence. When they'd been turned around by Bobby, Dean had noticed his father head to the study. He hadn't thought much of it, thinking John would join them in a moment, but he still wasn't here. He was the one who should be having this argument with Bobby, not Dean. But once again, Dean was left to shoulder the responsibility of his siblings' wellbeing. And shoulder it he would. Even if that meant clashing with Bobby who frankly was more a father to them than John was.

"You'd have said no!" Bobby said simply.

"Damn right we'd have said no. Why would you do this?"

"The purpose of a panic room escapes you, doesn't it?" Bobby said in an exasperated voice.

"I know damn well what a panic room is for, but you're not using it as one in this case. It's a prison!"

"It's protection!"

"Put her down on the bed." Missouri instructed Sam gently, deciding to go on with business while Dean and Bobby duked it out.

Sam however didn't do as asked, instead he held his unconscious sister tighter and looked to Dean for instruction.

"Protection for who?" Dean yelled at Bobby.

"Well, for one thing knucklehead, in here she can safely take off the ring thats poisoning her, without a reaver coming after her!" Bobby growled. At least that was one justification for the room allocation to Emily, and it was one neither Dean nor Sam could refute.

Dean knew when he was beaten. He sighed, then with a death glare at Bobby, he turned and nodded to Sam who put Emily on the bed.

Just then, John who had detoured to the study for a nip of Bobby's whisky, and then to the kitchen, walked into the panic room with a damp tea towel. Hiding his disbelief easily Dean took it and placed it on Emily's forehead. It was amazing that of all people, John was the one who had thought about the towel. Bobby too was thrown. It never failed to surprise him when John actually remembered to act like a father.

It took a while for Emily to come around. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the sudden light and the concerned faces staring down at her. If the blood hadn't drained from her face during the fainting, she would definitely have blushed. She didn't like being watched when she was out of it or as she slept.

"I'm sorry!" she apologised as she struggled to sit up. Dean helped her and was surprised when she accepted the help without complaint. He could see she was gritting her teeth once again.

"What're you apologising for now?" Missouri asked with a genuinely puzzled look on her face.

"For ruining everyone's day," Emily explained, rubbing her right eye agitatedly.

"Frankly, my day wasn't that hot!" Bobby deadpanned.

Emily managed a short gasp of laughter. She glanced over at her father and whispered, "So umm, now, can I take it off?"

John grimaced when his sons looked at him accusatorially. "Yeah, I was overzealous in stopping you before, go on, take it off."

Emily smiled her forgiveness at him, not that she thought he needed to apologise. After all, he'd been right to swat away her hand. The ring evidently would have burnt her mouth. This time she didn't try that move, instead giving her hand to Dean who gently tugged the ring off her finger.

They all held their breaths. For about five seconds, nothing happened.

Then a blood curdling scream of pain ripped itself from Emily's chest as her broken bones reknit themselves, the muscles healed and the gored flesh closed. Tears fell in torrents down her face. She didn't care about weakness anymore, she just wanted this to be over. Bobby held Dean back and John had a firm grip on Sam.

After what seemed like hours but was only two minutes or so, Emily stopped screaming and flopped back on the bed, breathing heavily, her eyes tightly closed, her body soaked with sweat.

"Rae?" Sam called softly, still held by John even though he was not struggling to break free anymore.

"I'm okay. I just need a minute," Emily croaked without opening her eyes. "And a glass of water maybe."

An ashen Missouri walked falteringly out of the room without being asked. Bobby and John let go of the boys and the two rushed to crouch silently by their sister's bed.

Emily turned her head to the side and opened her eyes. Teary amber eyes met haunted green and hazel ones.

"Truthfully, I'm okay," she assured her brothers tiredly.

Sam reached out a shaky hand and pushed a wet tendril of hair away from Emily's forehead. She smiled then suddenly twisted away. The brothers frowned in confusion, but she was simply creating space for them on the bed.

"Can you please get off the floor? I know I'm awesome, but you don't need to worship me! You're making me feel like an evil nun!" she quipped softly.

Both Sam and Dean huffed soft gasps of almost reluctant laughter and got up and tethered themselves uncertainly on the edge of the bed. Since it was hanging off chains from the wall, they weren't sure how much weight it could take. Emily rolled onto her right side and curled into a ball. Sam took her hand and held it gently.

"Guess this has got to come off too!" she whispered about the fixator, the reluctance in her voice was easily decipherable.

Dean tucked her hair behind her ear. "Not today!" he assured her. She'd had enough for one day; they all had.

John watched the tableau in amazement. He hadn't seen his sons act this unselfconsciously tender and affectionate, this unashamedly touchy-feely, in almost twelve years. He swallowed a lump and blinked away the sudden tears before anyone noticed them.

Bobby noticed but pretended not to have. John needed his secrets after all. There were a number of snarky things Bobby could have said, but now was not the time for them, not when everyone was feeling this fragile. Instead he offered John the only out he could think of at the moment. "I could use a strong drink, you?"

"Sure!" John took the offered lifeline gratefully. He knew his children, particularly his sons would relish the privacy, especially since they'd let down their emotional defences. Both men walked out of the room.

They met Missouri right outside with a jug of water and an empty tumbler. She handed them to John without saying a word. He took a steadying breath and went back inside the panic room. None of his children had moved. "Here's the water," he announced needlessly.

"Yeah well, she's asleep," Sam answered a little snidely. Emily's hand had gone slack about a minute earlier, but he hadn't wanted to let go. Now he did, placing it on the bed and gently removing the unneeded dressing.

John could tell that Sam was still bent out of shape about how he had manhandled Emily before. He unsuccessfully tried to glare his son into submission as he placed the jug and the tumbler on the desk that was crowded with tomes, manuscripts, an old transistor radio and an iPod on a docking station. John knew enough to guess it was Emily's. He felt like a wayward child, with the way Dean was looking at him. Just as he was about to snap at him, Dean spoke.

"So, are you okay with this?" he asked in a hard voice, encompassing the dreary room in one jerky angry gesture.

John sighed and run a hand through his hair. He looked at his sleeping daughter for a long moment before turning his gaze back to his sons. "Well, yes," he began. He saw both boys swell in indignation, and spoke quickly before he could be interrupted. "Not in here!"

Sam made to leave too but Dean got him to stay put with just one look, and a slight nod in Emily's direction. Again John felt a pang of wonder and jealousy. He could rarely get Sam to do anything, let alone with just a look.

"How can you be okay with this? Missouri had no right to banish Rae down here!" Dean began heatedly as soon as the door closed behind him and John.

"First of all, banish?" John raised an eyebrow. "I would hardly call this banishment. It's the basement, not a deserted island. Besides, without the ring, this is the only room your sister can inhabit without being on any monster's radar. We've got enough problems with her current condition. "

"Well, Missouri didn't even know about the ring at the time of making of the decision!" Dean refused to be easily placated.

"Bobby did." John said mildly.

"And he'd forgotten about it. Everyone had!"

"Look!" John spoke sharply. "It's not ideal, but you gotta admit, it's the best decision. Right now, Missouri is the only authority we have on how to keep the werewolf curse at bay. The rest of us don't, we're hunters, the only solution we know is a silver bullet to the heart. If she'd suggested chaining Emily up in silver or some other similar measure, maybe I'd be up in arms about it, but truthfully, I'd probably go with it if that's what she said it'd take to keep Emily from changing. When it comes to your sister's life and humanity, everything else is insignificant. If she has to bunk out down here for a while, then so be it! Besides, she doesn't seem to have a problem with the arrangement, and frankly, her opinion is the only one that matters since she's the one being affected."

"So what are you saying? That because she's infected we abandon her?" Dean knew he was being unreasonable but he wasn't known for his use of reason when his siblings were involved. Emotion took over and coloured everything. He took a couple of breaths trying to calm himself down.

"I didn't …" Noticing his son's distress, John relented, "I'll talk to Bobby, see if he can locate and bring down a cot. That way you and Sammy can take turns bunking down here."

Dean knew a truce when he heard one and truces from John were a rare commodity. Besides, the suggestion was good and considerate. Dean nodded both in acquiesce and appreciation.

The two men stared at each other for a moment before John spoke. "So, are you coming up to finish the hack job?"

"Yeah, I'll be there shortly."

"Okay." John turned to walk away, then turned back again, "She's lucky to have you. They both are!" Then he turned and went up the stairs.

Dean stared in shock at the spot his father had been standing in. He'd never heard John vocalise that particular sentiment; in fact he had never realised his father noticed his commitment to Sam and Emily. He felt a lump in his throat and swallowed a couple of times to get rid of it. Duly composed, he opened the steel door and poked his head in.

"Hey, I'm going to go back, help dad and Bobby finish with the van. You okay to stay here?" he asked Sam who had relocated to sit at the desk.

Sam waved his book, "Yes mother hen, I think I can survive a paper cut if I get one!" he smiled.

Dean laughed. "Geek!"

"Ignoramus!"


	19. Chapter 18

In the short interval Dean was checking in on his siblings, John quickly filled Bobby in on his phone call with the she-werewolf.

"Mmmm, so it's revenge. Makes sense why four veru-whatevers would just turn up." Bobby mumbled thoughtfully. "Have you told them? Since they're the ones she's going after?" Bobby asked.

John didn't need to ask which them Bobby was talking about. "No, and I'm not going to." John answered and at Bobby's questioning look added, "They're distracted. I doubt they'll bring their A game."

Bobby pursed his lips. "That's what you're going with?" it was more incredulous disbelief than a question. He'd bet his yard that Emily's affliction while distracting, wouldn't hamper Sam and Dean's hunting prowess. Instead, it would motivate them; focus them into even more deadly adversaries for the werewolf responsible for hurting their sister. Bobby knew just how far the boys were willing to go for each other and for Emily. He even worried that they'd someday go too far. And after the time she'd spent with them, Emily was fast becoming tunnel-visioned towards her brothers.

"Fine, I just don't want them on this one." John said truthfully. "This is not some random monster that needs taking down; she specifically targeted them to get to me. And guess what? She did it. She got to me! I know better than anyone how much of motivator revenge is. And this woman isn't just on a revenge mission, Bobby, she's quite aware she's on a suicide mission and you know how rational kamikaze monsters are. Besides, you and I can handle one werewolf." he further defended his decision.

"You really think she'll turn up alone?"

That gave John pause. The woman was probably insane with grief and anger at the loss of her sons, and that made her unpredictable, which meant she was likely to be more dangerous. However, unlike her sons, she was a werewolf, which put her at a disadvantage. As a human, she could plot and strategise, but unfortunately, her physical strength was limited. John didn't think she'd come after them in human form, unless she could use a weapon of some sort. It was a possibility of course, but she'd have used it against him when he'd gone to retrieve the van. Besides, even as a thinking human, she wasn't one for full formed, solid plans as evidenced by her sending her sons after his children without doing prior research that would have told her just how deadly Dean, Sam and Emily were.

He therefore believed she'd wait for the full moon after she'd come into her full werewolf powers. John wasn't worried about that. She would be supernaturally strong and fast, but her intelligence would give way to her inherent animal urges. She wouldn't be dumb in that form, not by a long short, but she'd not be equipped to set traps or open doors. She could stalk and attack, but so could he, and being a hunter, he knew her vulnerability to silver. He also doubted that there were other wolves she'd align with, otherwise she wouldn't have used her sons as the first line of attack. No matter what form she chose, or what tricks she used, John believed he had the advantage. "We've been up against worse odds!" he said confidently.

Bobby raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You think I should tell them!" John guessed, an impatient growl creeping into his voice.

"It's your call … obviously, but yeah, I think they should be looped in." Bobby shrugged and grabbed a ratchet wrench. He wasn't going to raise a stink over John's decision; he didn't fight losing battles if he could help it.

By the time Dean came outside, the two men were working in companionable silence. Still, he could sense an undercurrent of something between them, so he looked each man over, but neither had any bruises or sported beginnings of a black eye. He shrugged mentally and joined them.

* * *

><p>Emily woke up almost three hours later, feeling remarkably well rested. She was starving and she was so itchy from the sweat from the healing process.<p>

"Oh gross, I need a bath, and I don't care if I have to hold Missouri down to get my hands on any left overs, that's if Dean hasn't gotten to them first!" she was already pulling the door open when Sam grabbed her round the waist, yanking her back.

"Hey, hey, not so fast!" he yelped, then put her down. The puzzled, militant glint in her eyes amused him. "Apparently the healing process used some of your brain cells to repair your arm ones!" he laughed.

"What the hell are you going on about?" She glared at him, making him snicker.

"You can't step out of this room without your ring, remember?"

"The ring burns like a … you know what!" Emily wailed trying to get sympathy that was so far not forthcoming.

Sam smiled at his sister's inability to cuss under normal circumstances. "Well then, you're stuck in here for now." he said

"Wow, you sure are a bleeding heart today, aren't you?"

"What can I say? I'd rather have you locked up than dead!"

"Your priorities are straight, I appreciate that, but at this rate, I'm going to die of starvation and poor hygiene anyway!"

"I'll go up and bring you food and ummm, some baby wipes!"

"Baby wipes? I'm going to use wipes until this is over?"

"They're surprisingly effective."

"Bet you know that from experience!" Emily muttered drily. "I suppose I'll have to go in a bucket!"

Sam turned red. Emily almost laughed. She'd already figured that since bathroom breaks were relatively short, she could brave the ring for those.

"And I'm going to die of boredom!" she added deciding to take Sam and his sensibilities off the hook.

Sam laughed in relief at the change in topic. Some subjects were just too awkward. "No, you won't. You've got your iPod and your laptop, tons of books to read, and when that thingamajig on your arm comes off, you'll be able to play your guitar. Besides, I'm sure Dean will camp down here until you're sprang."

Emily swallowed a knowing smile. She knew Sam would camp out too. But while she loved her brothers, music, and books, she also loved the outdoors and being cooped up for days on end was not really appealing.

"The sun doesn't shine down here, there are no plants and what about drills?" she complained with real feeling this time.

"You and Dean can spar if you promise Bobby you won't break anything … valuable," Sam smiled. "As for the sun, there's nothing any of us can do about that. You can always pretend it's winter and you're stuck indoors."

"I'm from California! Our winters don't hold us hostage!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, you do get the point I'm trying to make."

"Yeah … I do." Emily admitted grudgingly.

"Good! I was really beginning to consider dead brain cells! Anyway, as for the plant issue, maybe we can get you a bonsai. I'm sure Bobby can swing it. The man can get anything!"

The idea of Bobby with a bonsai finally made the grin Emily had been holding in, burst out like the sun. Sam smiled and stood up. He ruffled her hair and she shoved his hand away with a low growl.

He laughed heartily, "I'll be right back." Then he stepped out.

"I'll be here!" Emily muttered grouchily to herself. She reached out to turn on her docked iPod and made the discovery. "No way!" she exclaimed in disbelieving awe. Ignoring the device, she inspected her arms. The scars from the reaver attack were gone! She had known that without the silver countering the wolf's venom, the wound the verumnat had inflicted would heal, possibly without scarring, but it had not occurred to her that her prior existing scars would disappear as well. While she had skin that didn't usually scar, she had had a handful of wounds and burns deep enough to leave marks. She checked her body for those scars. They were all gone. "I'll be damned!" she whispered. A moment later, she looked up and added, "I don't mean that literally, so please don't send me to hell!"

She finally reached over turned on the iPod filling the room with music, then selected a book and sat cross-legged on the bed.

Sam got upstairs just as Bobby, John and Dean were walking in the back door having finished with the van.

"Rae?" Dean asked immediately.

"She's awake, hungry, itchy, and grumpy!" he announced, "Just like you are when you wake up from a nap!" he added with a grin.

Dean didn't know which slur to take offence at; the grumpiness, itchiness, or napping in the first place. "I don't nap! he growled deciding that it was the biggest insult of all. "I'm not a toddler!"

"Could have fooled me!" Bobby deadpanned. Dean glared at him and the twinkle in the man's eyes was unmistakable even though he didn't physically smile.

"So yeah, I've come for supplies; food, baby wipes, a bonsai …" Sam continued.

"What?" the three men exclaimed.

"Inside joke that last one, but someone has to make a store run for baby wipes. I doubt you've got those on tap, Bobby. Oh and sanitiser."

"Yep, he's finally snapped!" Dean remarked drily.

"For Rae, you idiot!" Sam rolled his eyes. "They're a bath substitute since she can't leave the panic room without the ring, and the ring is currently not compatible with her."

"Oh, okay. I'll go, but you'll have to come with, because I don't know how to buy girl stuff!" Dean offered.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sam complained.

"Payback's a bitch, huh?" Dean grinned at him. "Come on Samantha, let's go."

"No, I'll do it. You knuckleheads see to the food." Bobby offered, aiming his comment at the boys, but looking at John with a loaded gaze. "I still think you should tell them!" that look said. He grabbed his car keys and walked out of the room before John could offer to go with him.

The Winchester men went to the kitchen and Dean put together a plate for Emily and one for himself. Sam looked at him in disbelief.

"What? I'm hungry!" he defended himself petulantly.

"Always!" Sam muttered as he grabbed a cola from the fridge. John shook his head and followed them downstairs.

Emily barely raised her head out of the book when the door opened, but when the smell of the food wafted over, she chucked the book to the side and grinned up at them. "You guys are the best!" she enthused, reaching out to pause the music.

"Always remember that!" Dean quipped back.

"I will … until the next time you fart!" she retorted.

"Which if I know him as well as I unfortunately do, will be in the next …" Sam consulted his watch with a grin, "five minutes! So eat fast!"

"Cute!" Dean growled, while Emily snorted a giggle. John looked around the room, finally settling his gaze on the fan.

"Thank heavens Bobby didn't forget about ventilation otherwise this would be a gas chamber!" he said with gravitas.

Emily and Sam convulsed with laughter.

"Yeah, go ahead and encourage them, dad!" Dean grumbled though it was hard not to hear the smile in his voice. He was happy to have his family together, even though the circumstances that had led to the current reunion were hardly ideal. But the four of them were together, and right in this moment, they were happy.

Easy conversation flowed, with John holding back until Dean and Emily had finished eating before breaching the subject of the revenge bent werewolf.

"We took down four, we can take down one easy!" Sam shrugged offhandedly.

"How the hell did we end up in a bad chapter of twilight?" Dean complained mildly.

"You've read that book too? Seriously, my opinion of you is shifting!" Emily said wryly.

"I didn't read it!" Dean was affronted. "Sam read the whole damn thing out loud to me!" he added with a glare at Sam as he remembered those five torturous days.

Sam laughed heartily at the memory. "You're lucky I read just the one book!" Truthfully, the book had been a hard read for him too, but he'd stuck with it, and it had been worth it because it had been sheer torture for Dean. They'd both held out for some kick ass Buffy the Vampire Slayer action, but it hadn't materialised; the book had been more about a romance than anything else. And not even a steamy smutty romance, as the girl in the story was only seventeen.

"Good Pythagoras, what had he done to you to deserve that?" Emily asked Sam. She remembered reading only five or so chapters of the book, and deciding she would probably have enjoyed it if she'd been younger, or had wanted to read a love story, or if she hadn't read Bram Stoker's Dracula before.

"It was payback for a dick prank he'd pulled!"

"I tore the last page out of the book he was reading before."

"You didn't!" Emily was dismayed.

"I still don't know how The Ink-Keeper's Apprentice ends!" Sam grumbled.

John watched his children in amazement. He knew they were resilient, especially his sons since he had raised them, but he had to admit he found their calm, dismissive acceptance of the situation unusual and amazing. Uncharacteristically, Dean was not calling for heads or baying for blood and Sam wasn't blaming John for any of it and calling him an unfit father. He hadn't known how Emily would react, but wry humour certainly wasn't what he'd expected. He shook his head and cleared his throat to draw their attention back to the issue.

Dean looked over at his father. "So how do you want us to play this?" he asked matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't been snickering just a few moments earlier.

John wasn't surprised by the swift change in his children's demeanour. They could joke and bicker, act pedestrian and domestic, but they were hunters at heart even the ones who would rather not be.

"When the time comes, Bobby and I will handle the wolf. You guys will stay down here with Missouri," he said.

"The hell, dad! John!" three petulant voices yelled.

John almost nodded; now that was the reaction he'd been expecting; righteous indignation, and a call to arms.

All three began speaking simultaneously with angry arm movements and earnest looks on their faces.

"There's no way we are …" that was Dean.

"You can't expect us to …" and that was Sam.

"But I can …" that was Emily.

"Hey! Hey!" John bellowed silencing them all. "I know you want to take part in the takedown, but you," he pointed at Emily, "we don't know what condition you might be in that night. For all we know you might still be infected, and it'll be a full moon, so you know the implications of that. That means that you," he pointed at Sam and Dean, "you might have to contain her and protect Missouri too."

"Fine! But what if i'm cured? What then?" Emily argued. Her brothers nodded in agreement.

"Well, it's just one werewolf. All five of us don't need to be on the hunt. Still, even if you're cured then, you'll have to stay down here and protect Missouri. And you two can come with me and Bobby." John answered.

Emily scowled but didn't argue. Missouri wasn't a hunter, so she needed to be kept away from the fight, but once inside the panic room, she'd be safe. There was really no need to babysit her; it was not like the werewolf could open doors when in wolf-form. Emily could spot mollycoddling tendencies a mile away and John was exhibiting them without even an attempt at disguise. But this time Emily didn't mind. In fact, if she was being really truthful with herself, she'd readily admit that she was not ready to face another werewolf quite this soon. Sitting out the hunt in the panic room suited her just fine.

"So have we got this settled?"John asked.

"Yeah," three voices answered, two more reluctantly than the third.

"Good!" John stood, collected the plates and left without another word. Dean stared at him in shock. He couldn't remember the last time the man had cleared away things after eating. He'd always expected Dean to do it.

Emily turned to Sam, "So where are my wipes. And my bonsai?"

"What is this bonsai thing about?" Dean asked.

"Inside joke!" Sam and Emily dimpled at him.

"Fine!" he huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration, "See if I care!"

"Yes you do!" Emily sing-songed. Sam chuckled.

"See? This is why I don't believe in God. I prayed for a brother, instead, I got two sisters!" Dean dead-panned.

"It could have been worse. Look what I got!" Emily complained.

"Hey, we're awesome brothers!" Dean objected.

"Why thank you!" Sam exclaimed with exaggerated wide eyed appreciation.

"You walked right into that one!" Emily chortled.

Dean hit the play button on the iPod.

Up in the kitchen, John put the plates in the sink then went upstairs for a shower. Feeling marginally better, he returned to the study where he found Missouri grinding things in a bowl. He'd wanted to be alone, maybe crash on the couch for an hour or so, but with company he felt obliged to speak. "Is that it? The potion, I mean?"

"Not yet," she answered, "there's plenty else going in. Right now it's just hemlock and sliver nitrate, then the belladonna will go in next …"

"Belladonna?" John interrupted. "Isn't that a poison?" he asked alarmed. If his daughter ended up dead, a head was going to roll.

"In certain quantities yes, but right now, Emily can take it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that right now, her blood isn't like yours or mine. It's contaminated, unnatural. What would most certainly kill us, will only make her sick."

"Make her sick? I thought this was supposed to be a cure!"

"It is a cure!" Missouri spoke slowly like she was communicating with an idiot. "It'll have side effects … obviously!"

"What kind of side effects?"

"Well I don't know!" Missouri's high voice was a trill of irritation.

"What?" John's shout could have woken the dead if they were so inclined.

"I've never done this before." Missouri huffed.

"What? You said you had the cure!"

"I have the cure. It's been in the family for decades, but how many redeemable werewolves do you suppose I've come across before today?"

"So you're not even sure this remedy will work?" John rubbed his temples as a headache blossomed.

"It will work."Missouri said assuredly, "My mother wouldn't have passed it down if it didn't."

"Well, did she ever use it?" John emphasised each word.

"No."

John closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He couldn't deck the woman. "When will it be ready?" he asked after a full minute of composing himself.

"When I finish it," was Missouri's impudent answer.

John made a snuffling sound of annoyance.

"Since you're so gung-ho about all this, how about you go get that contraption off your daughter's arm and let me finish this?"

Before stalking out, John glared at the woman who studiously ignored him.

Bobby returned from the store to find John in the tool shed carefully selecting tools. Bobby didn't think much of it. He knew John liked to build things and was good at it, a love and talent he'd passed onto Dean. Besides, there was not much in way of entertainment at the yard for the man who was an action junkie.

However, when John entered the house with the tools, Bobby's curiosity was piqued. "What's going on?"

"I'm gonna take the fixator off Emily's arm."

"With those?" Bobby was alarmed.

John looked appraisingly at the tools in his arms to see if he had missed any. "They should do the job," he nodded.

"I think we should take her to a hospital," Bobby suggested. "A different one of course where they don't know her history." He did not really relish the idea of using those tools on a person's arm, especially when that person was just a kid and had already been through excruciating pain in the same day.

"Even if we do, they'll probably ask for her records, and will want to get in touch with her treating doctor."

Bobby sighed at the truth in that supposition. "In that case, you're gonna need …" he disappeared into his study and returned with a bottle of whisky, "this."

"She's only eighteen!" John frowned dangerously.

"Wow, please go on and point out the obvious!" Bobby groused. "I don't see any prohibition cops around! Look, she's going to need it because it's either this or her pills and I don't think she's going to go for that. Besides, how old were the boys when they had their first drinks?"

John ducked his head. He had no proof, but he'd always suspected Dean had started drinking when he was fifteen. The boy had been smart and sneaky, and had had the undying loyalty of his younger brother who would never sell him out, not even to their own father, so all John had were suspicions. At least shy and studious Sam, hadn't had the inclination to sneak drinks, and had only had his first drink under duress just shy of his seventeenth birthday and under supervision of both his father and brother. John remembered Sam had needed the drink to fortify him during a field treatment after a hunt that had gone south. It was a memory John would much rather forget.

"Fine, bring it," he conceded curtly. "I might need it myself," he added in a mutter, when he remembered how distraught both him and Dean had been that night with Sam, and had each taken a shot of the drink to burn off the edge.

Sam and Emily were buried in their books and for once Dean was not trying to get either one's attention because he was busy tinkering with the transistor radio on the desk. When the door opened, three barely interested heads rose lazily to see who it was.

"No! No way!" Dean jumped and stood in front of Emily when he saw what John was carrying.

"It has to be done." John said, placing the tools on the desk.

Emily stared at them wide eyed and lost for words. Sam shuffled closer to her.

"I know it does, but I promised her it wouldn't be today," Dean growled at his father.

"The sooner we get it out of the way, the better."

"No."

"Dean …"

"Dad, please!" Dean sounded broken. He broke promises all the time, even to his siblings, but never the important ones. And this was an important one. He couldn't lose Emily's trust, or Sam's.

Bobby finally moved past the door. He skirted round John and Dean, dropped the bag with the wipes and sanitiser on one of the shelves lining the room and walked over to Sam and Emily. He handed her the whisky bottle. She took it hesitantly, looked questioningly at him, then at Sam. She had been forbidden to drink alcohol by any of them, until she was of age, and truth be told, she had never felt like she was missing out on anything; the urge just wasn't there, so she'd never once fought the ban. So being handed a bottle of whisky by Bobby was surprising to say the least.

"It's that or your pain pills, your call." Bobby shrugged.

"Hey Dean, don't sweat it. Check it out, there are perks to this!" she piped up.

Dean turned to look at her. She raised the bottle jubilantly, smiling widely but she couldn't successfully hide the fear in her eyes. He was touched. She was trying to protect him, even though she was frightened. He smiled, playing along.

"So this was just an elaborate ruse to hit the bottle, huh!"

"It worked, didn't it?"

Looking between his siblings, Sam felt a swell of love for them. Sometimes the two of them were so similar, it was uncanny. Right now they were both full of angst, and yet they were each trying to make the other feel better.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road." John spoke, his voice hard even though his heart had been turned to mush by his kids.

"What? Those aren't even sterilised!" now Sam was the one up in arms.

"I'm sure I'll be fine. I've got super blood after all!" Emily quipped almost managing to hide the hitch in her voice. She took a deep fortifying breath, uncapped the bottle and took a huge swig of the whisky. She spluttered and coughed as it burnt down her throat, exploding in her chest and spreading heat to her stomach. She wiped away tears, "Sweet Pythagoras! What do you guys see in this stuff?" she gasped. "Give me a cola any day."

"The trick is to not drink it like it's a cola, idjit!" Bobby cracked a smile.

"Take small sips, right to the back of your throat, don't let it linger on your tongue!" John chocked on a laugh.

"I'm glad, I'm entertaining you all so much," Emily grumbled, scrunching her face in mild annoyance. She took small cautious sips, forcing the drink past her throat.

The four men sat around talking while pretending they were not watching her. When she began giggling and professing her love for them, using very colourful language, Dean looked up with a frown, and snatched away the bottle.

"The fuck! Give it back!" Emily slurred.

"Just let her have it. Passed out is probably better for this." Bobby said mildly. He ignored the glares the others gave him.

Dean gave the bottle back grudgingly. John took it away a minute later when Emily missed her mouth and the whisky dribbled down her chin. This time she didn't even ask for it back, she just stared glassy eyed at him and smiled lazily.

"She's not quite passed out, but that's just splitting hairs!" he pre-empted Bobby's objection.

"I wasn't going to say anything." Bobby said because looking at Emily, he agreed with John. She was still awake, but just barely.

Despite Emily's nonchalance and the others' disregard, Sam tried to sterilise the tools with the remaining whisky. Then he held Emily while Dean steadied her arm as she was disinclined to hold it up or steady it herself. She melted contentedly in Sam's arms, blinking lazily as she watched John and Bobby working in tandem at removing the fixator. "You guys are fuckin' awesome!" she slurred at them. "And Sammy, you and Dean are the bloody best!" she declared.

Sam looked down at her as he suddenly realised it was the first time she'd ever called him Sammy. "Oh God, not you too!" he groaned.

Dean laughed and leaned close to Sam's ear to whisper. "Don't worry, it's probably the alcohol talking."

"It'd better be or I'm holding you accountable!"

Bobby started the drill, its sound making Emily flinch. When he closed in on her, she involuntarily withdrew.

"Don't watch, maybe that'll make it easier." Dean suggested.

Emily closed her eyes though she remained extremely tense. Bobby leaned in again and set the drill to the fixator.

"Son of a shit snacking whore!" she swore, and pulled away.

"Sweet mother! I don't think I can ever get used to hearing her talk like that!" John groaned, appalled by the cussing.

"Didn't take you for the sensitive type!" Bobby huffed in barely concealed amusement. Emily's uncharacteristic sailor talk jarred him too, but he took it in stride since it was a rare occurrence.

"Well, better me than Missouri!"

"Amen to that!"

Both men knew Missouri would somehow find a way to blame them for Emily's language transgressions.

The men bantered back and forth until the cadence of their voices, and the copious amounts of alcohol she'd taken lulled Emily to sleep. Then they started the fixator removal.

Watching the procedure was amazing, in a creepy way. Every time a schanz pin was taken out, there was bleeding that disappeared in seconds as the circular wound left behind closed. By the time the last pin was out, the arm didn't look like it had been in a fixator except for the dried blood left behind. For a short moment the four men looked at it in silence, freshly horrified by the implication of the unnatural healing.

"Well, at least now we won't have to worry about infection and antibiotics routines." Dean said into the silence. He took a wipe from the pack, and cleaned Emily's arm.


	20. Chapter 19

As promised, John had had Bobby put a cot in the panic room. However, he had coerced his sons into sleeping in their own room. He assured them it was just for the one night, and he didn't dare break the promise; otherwise he would have a mutiny on his hands. He wanted to have some one-on-one time with his daughter, even though it meant bullying his sons to get it. He didn't know what he was going to say to Emily; he wasn't one for heart to hearts, in fact, he wasn't one for talking. But he was acutely aware that in less than two weeks, his only daughter might be dead. And he was terrified he might be the one to pull the trigger.

Unfortunately, Emily had slept through the night, which wasn't surprising really, since she'd been whisky soaked. He had been tired too, having had only a few snatched naps in the hospital and on the drive from there. So even though he hadn't intended to, he had fallen asleep almost as soon as the door had closed behind his boys and Bobby last night.

Awake now, he lay still, just listening to his daughter breathe; so simple and ordinary, and yet it was one of the most poignant sounds he'd heard in a while. He remembered how he'd sometimes listened to his sons too, back then when they'd been hunting together. Dean's breathing was always deep and regular, and he'd sometimes make purring sounds of contentment that made John wonder what he was dreaming about. Sam's breathing on the other hand could go from steady to erratic hitches in seconds as he fought the throes of his nightmares. From as far back as John could remember, Sam had had restless nights.

John held back a sigh and settled further into the covers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself the luxury of a lie-in. He was always on the move, researching, hunting, trying to out-run his troubles, worries and enemies. The problem was, he'd almost out-run the good in his life — his children. One of whom he might lose soon.

On that despondent thought he found himself praying, something he hadn't done in years. He prayed that this life wouldn't destroy his children, and he didn't mean just physically. He hoped it never stripped away their empathy, their morality, their selflessness. He knew many hunters who were so filled with hate, that they were more kin to the things they hunted than to the people they were supposedly protecting. John hoped his children never became like that. He hoped they kept their goodness, and their love and faith in each other.

Emily woke up slowly. She was surprised that she had no headache or any other adverse reaction to all the alcohol she had taken last night. Unaccustomed to drinking, and considering the amount she had drank, she should have woken up with one hell of a hangover. She knew her remarkable resilience had something to do with the tainted blood currently running through her veins. Seriously if the werewolf curse didn't come with unappealing side effects like becoming a mindless, bloodthirsty, murderous monster during full moons, or a nasty allergy to silver, Emily would have been disinclined to getting treatment, because it was otherwise a sweet gig. Instant healing, no hangovers — not that she intended to become an alcoholic or anything — a high metabolism that would allow her to eat chocolate for every meal every day without consequence, keener eyesight and sense of smell, and increased speed. What was there not to like? But the tendril of fear that curled around her heart reminded her that the cons far outweighed the pros.

Not fully committed to wakefulness, she watched the fan rotate, and idly admired the patterns on the fan grill that were actually a devil's trap. "Man, Bobby really is a genius!" she thought to herself. As usual, that thought led to wondering what he'd been like before all this, before his wife's death, before hunting, before meeting the Winchesters. And that in turn got her wondering about John, and what he'd been like before.

John on his part had immediately known when Emily had woken up. Her breathing had changed subtly. But he stayed silent, curious to see how she embraced a new day. It was something he had never witnessed. He didn't know if she was a morning person, or a reluctant waker, whether she reached first for her phone or her iPod or her gun, whether she whispered a prayer in thanks or cursed the new day, whether she'd call out a cheery greeting or mumble a grudging acknowledgment.

"What was she like? Mary, I mean?" Emily broke the silence suddenly. She often wondered about the woman who had had such an impact on the three men she called family. Dean had once talked about her in a rare emotional moment, his walls broken down temporarily by medication. His words had made Emily curious to hear about Mary from John, the man who had loved her so passionately, that he'd become a hunter to avenge her death. Emily acknowledged the fact that he hadn't loved her biological mother, Celeste. Heck, he hadn't even been himself when he'd met her, a fact that freaked Emily out every time she thought about it, as it made her conception a mystery.

The question threw John. Not only had it come out of left field, blindsiding him completely, he'd also not been aware that Emily knew he was awake.

He felt his chest tighten around his heart in a painful knot as millions of images flooded his mind; images he didn't want to see but could never block out. Images that threatened his sanity every single day. He saw Mary's smile, a beautiful smile that lit up any room she was in. He saw her eyes, blue-green eyes that twinkled in laughter but darkened like storm clouds in anger. He saw her playing with Dean, laughing gaily. He saw her breast-feeding Sam, a look of such contentment on her face. He remembered how she'd looked at both boys, like she couldn't believe they were hers, a look of such fierce love, it was scary sometimes. He remembered how she didn't like ketch-up on her fries, how she drank her coffee, how she couldn't sing to save her life but was always singing, how fast she drove if the boys weren't in the car and how she was more allergic to technology than even he was.

She'd been so many things; a loving wife, loyal and tender, but she wouldn't take any crap from him, a gentle mother, fair and kind, but firm and no-nonsense, a sweet soul, soft-spoken and generous, but fearless when protecting what was hers, especially her sons. In fact, he had not been overly surprised when he'd learnt that she'd been raised a hunter. He'd been hurt, of course he had, that she'd not told him about that aspect of her past, but he'd not been surprised. Yes, she had been many things, but now, all she was, was gone … just gone. His Mary was no more.

He sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes as if to erase the images, especially the last image he ever saw of her, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and burning, crying out with no sound. But the images remained, forever etched with such clarity in his memory, each one a painful wound that would never heal. He didn't want to talk about Mary. No, anything but this. But it was what his daughter had asked. His beautiful daughter who unlike Mary was still here, at least for now. He swallowed and spoke.

The silence had been so long that Emily had thought John was not going to answer. She almost jumped out of her skin when he spoke.

"Mary was … she was incredible! Beautiful, inside and out, kind and gentle, but also strong. She was funny in a witty way, and a bit of a smart ass!" John laughed. "She was … wonderful, the light of my life. And you know what else she was? She was out of my league, is what she was. I won the lottery with her. I always wondered what she saw in me."

As he'd been talking, Emily had sat up and was now leaning against the wall, cuddling her knees to her chest. "Maybe she was a closet dork," she smiled, "and you kind of rock now. So she must have seen something."

John chuckled. "You don't think I rocked then?"

She looked him over critically, but with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It seems unlikely!" she finally answered.

"Hey!" he protested. "I'll have you know I was cool!"

"Yeah, I bet you were all that and a packet of chips!"

"I got the hot girl didn't I?" John grinned.

"Must have been the car!" Emily shot back.

John's smile fell as he was once again transported to the past. He turned away and stared at the ceiling again. "She really loved that car," he said sadly.

Emily's smile fell as well, and she let her head fall back against the wall. A sad nostalgic silence settled in the room.

John broke it nearly two minutes later. "Almost as much as Dean does. There's so much of her in both of them, that sometimes … sometimes …" he trailed off. Missouri had understood the warring emotions within him, but he didn't think Emily would. She was young, and the boys were her brothers.

"It's hard." Emily finished for him softly, not looking at him. She knew John loved his sons to death, but she could imagine how sad he must feel each time he looked at them and saw their late mother. How guilty he felt for not having gotten her out of the house.

"Yes," John admitted. His surprise at her understanding was well hidden. Indeed women were more intuitive. He was never going to argue with that again.

"I figured as much, but they're not her, you know."

"I realise that."

"And you can't continue keeping them at arms length. Despite what you think, you're not protecting them that way, you're just hurting them."

Okay, so he was being lectured about parenting by an eighteen year old. His default position was aggressive self-defence but as he readied himself to explode, he remembered she was his eighteen year old. She wasn't judging his parenting, well she was, but she was also telling him his distance hurt, not just her brothers, but her as well.

"I'm trying!" he answered instead. "I'm doing my damnedest!"

But he was trying hard at the wrong thing and he knew it. He had raised his sons on the 'Family first' doctrine and yet he hadn't lived up to it religiously, the hunt always taking precedence. But regardless of John's behaviour, Dean still believed, Sam too despite his posturing. John thought he must have done something right in a past life, to have the sons he did.

"Family first," Emily whispered.

No, revise that, he must have done something exceptional, to have the children he had.

"Yeah, I know." John's words were a sigh filled with regret and guilt.

This time the silence was heavy and cloying.

Then Emily decided the atmosphere needed lightening up. "Pfft, who am I kidding? I'd sell Dean for a good burger! For Sam, I'd maybe hold out for at least two bids!" she dimpled.

John startled for a moment, then bellowed out a hearty laugh. Emily grinned. She liked hearing John laugh, it was a loud joyful sound though so rarely heard. The most he usually did was chuckle.

"Mary would have loved you!" he commented lightly, the sentiment just leaving his mouth without premeditation.

Emily's grin died. "Really?" she asked seriously, eyes wide.

"Really." John said with conviction.

There was a moment of silence, then Emily whispered a heartfelt thanks. John had no idea what she was thanking him for, but whatever it was, she was greatly moved by it.

With just five words, John had made Emily feel a connection to Mary, that she had never felt before. And in a convoluted way the words had formed a sort of link between her and her brothers and inadvertently strengthened the kinship she felt for them.

Emily had always felt a paradox of emotions whenever the topic of Mary came up, usually in passing. She grieved for her brothers' loss, she felt their pain, and yet at the same time she felt oddly detached from the tragedy. She hadn't been there, and Mary hadn't been her mother. Emily felt terribly guilty about her detachment, though the logical part of her knew there was really no need to feel guilty, as it was natural, not to be overcome with grief for a person one had never met. She doubted her brothers tore themselves apart with guilt over not grieving for Laura and Gray. She also felt a pinch of resentment and hurt as Mary or rather the memory of Mary, sometimes made her feel a little unwanted. It was a sad, unavoidable fact that if Mary hadn't died, then Emily herself wouldn't have existed. She'd never admit it, not out loud anyway, but she couldn't help but feel that if given a choice, her brothers would rather have their beloved mother than a half-sister. It was a terrible way to feel, and again the logical part of her knew that her brothers loved her undoubtedly and unreservedly, but her feelings of inadequacy never quite went away.

But now, John had given her a connection to Mary, and yeah, maybe it was a bit of a contrived connection, but it was a connection nevertheless. And even though she would never mourn Mary the way John, Dean and Sam did, she would no longer feel inadequate because of her either. Now she knew her place in the family, she realised it was not tethered to Mary, or Mary's absence.

John's statement, had also served to make Emily feel completely accepted. Though she was gone, Mary was still a big part of the Winchester family, and when John had said she would have loved Emily, he had inadvertently given Emily the final seal of approval.

Emily put her hands behind her head and smiled in contentment.

The camaraderie between the two lightened the room. The silence this time was comfortable and welcome.

"Dad?" Emily finally spoke.

"Mmm?" John answered casually, even though on the inside he was doing cartwheels he'd never admit to, overjoyed to hear Emily calling him dad without being under the influence of drugs, pain or any other duress.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Well, Missouri is the expert, not me," John said, and "Bobby's the one with the home, and your brothers are the ones that were here for you," a small acrimonious voice added in his mind. "She's the one you should be happy about. I'm just about useless this time."

"You're one of six people I would absolutely want around in a crisis!" Emily said with feeling, two of whom were dead anyway. "I'm thankful Missouri is here, I hope her potion works, but whether is works or not, I'm glad you're here." She paused before adding softly, "We all are."

John smiled wistfully. He was touched that she was trying to make him feel vital, even though he was the weakest link currently. "Maybe you're glad I'm here, but that's a cheerleading squad of one. Bobby threatens me every chance he gets, and I'm pretty sure he means it each time!" John laughed, the sound a little hollow even to his own ears. "As for the boys, well …" He couldn't bring himself to talk about his sons; the silent disappointment he saw in Dean's eyes, the simmering anger in Sam's.

Emily squelched a smile at John's comment about Bobby. Bobby might have been a mentor to John in the past, but the two men rarely saw eye to eye on anything these days. They disagreed about everything; hunting methods, money generation, living arrangements, how to treat the boys, and now her. Bobby thought John was a impetuous hot-headed fool and John thought Bobby was a disapproving sanctimonious burnout. But while they each threatened the other with bodily harm, they never meant it. Well, they rarely meant it. And would certainly never act on it. "You and Bobby just enjoy baiting each other, and Sam and Dean, they're …" she began.

"Pissed at me!" John interrupted. "I actually don't blame them. I've let them down. I've let you down."

"You've not let me down." Emily disagreed.

"Yet! There's time enough for that, trust me!" John said bitterly.

"Okay fine, Sam and Dean may hate the decisions you've made over the years, but they understand most of them. And yeah, sure, sometimes disappointment and resentment creeps in, but they don't hate you. Trust me! You're being here means a lot to them."

"Really?" It was John's turn to ask. He was embarrassed by the hopeful inflection that crept into his voice.

"You have no idea." Emily assured.

"Mmm." the noncommittal acknowledgement didn't quite convey just how happy she'd made him.

A few moments later she called again, "Da … John?"

He almost sighed at her return to calling him John instead of dad, but he supposed it was to be expected. "Yeah?"

"I love you." And she really did. She might not like him sometimes, or approve of his judgements, but she loved him. And maybe she didn't love him the way she'd loved her adoptive dad, Gray but she loved him just as much.

John had to clear his throat before speaking. "I love you too, kiddo."

Emily smiled at the heavy emotion she heard in his voice and decided to let the kiddo endearment pass.

John couldn't believe how easy talking to Emily was. He wished he could talk to his sons the same way. Unfortunately that was almost impossible. He didn't know where to start, and they wouldn't volunteer. Dean was like him; an emotional cripple, hiding behind his clutches of charm, wry humour and deliberate shallow behaviour. He kept a tight lid on his emotions, and didn't let many people in. Sam however was different. True he had the same temperament as John, but unlike his father or brother, Sam wasn't as scared about showing or sharing his emotions. However, as a teenager, he'd questioned everything John believed in and he'd rebelled. John hadn't handled the situation right, he knew that now, and the frequent shouting matches between the two of them had led to Sam's slow withdrawal from his father and now he would no more have a heart to heart with John than Dean would. He gravitated towards his brother, and would sooner turn to Bobby before coming to John. Also, John knew both boys would be hesitant about being so open, declaring it too girly or too much of hallmark moment. Emily obviously didn't have such reservations. Oh the joy of being female! Or being raised by emotionally stable people!

No, he wasn't going to start beating himself up again. Besides, he was all talked out anyway. He stood up suddenly and clapped once, "Okay, enough jawing, let's see if you've built on your skills."

Emily didn't need telling twice. She was off her bed in seconds, grinning widely. "All right!" she cheered. She gathered her hair into a messy loose braid, and smoothed down her dress. "Aren't we going to move the cot, create space?"

John laughed heartily, "No! It's not like fights in the real world always happen in convenient spacious places!"

"Okay, Obi-Wan, can I at least turn on some music?"

John was going to say no but decided against it. Emily loved music and was more likely than not to sing along to it, probably even bop a little to it. It would be a good exercise to see how she handled distractions.

Twenty minutes later, she was flat on the ground.

"Well, you've improved quite a bit from last time," John said as he helped her up. It was evident her brothers had been keeping up her lessons.

The match had not been quite even. With his extensive experience and greater bulk, John had the edge, but Emily was clever and she was a quick study and what she lacked in brute strength, she made up for in agility. She'd quickly adjusted her fighting style to account for John's advantages, and had given him a run for his money. Yes, compared to the last time they'd sparred, she had gotten exponentially better. Her brothers were obviously keeping up her training.

"There's still room for improvement," he added, reducing her self pride. "Evidently your left side is your weaker side, so you've got to try and keep your enemies to your right. If you can't do that, say you're surrounded or cornered, then the trick is to not attack first. Instead, draw them in, then counter. Here I'll show you. Come at me."

Only seconds later Emily found herself on the ground again. "Use your size, speed and agility to your advantage, and most importantly make sure every hit you make counts, because useless hits only tire you out that much faster and annoy your opponent. Again!"

They circled each other.

"In our line of work, when you fight, you fight to …" John began.

"Win!" Emily gasped, remembering the lesson well.

"Good! I know the playing field is not equal … the things out there are powerful, and fast, and they've got unfair advantages with their powers, and tricks, and they're certainly not honourable. So fight dirty if that's what it takes." John lectured.

He came at Emily suddenly and fast, but she anticipated the move, and used it to her advantage, twisting out of the way at the last possible moment. A kick to the back of his knee brought him down, his earlier momentum working against him. Then she brought her foot gently to the back of his neck and smirked at him. If she'd kicked down hard like she would have in a real fight, she'd have at the very least made his head smack into the ground knocking him out, and at the worst she'd have cracked his neck.

"Good, let me up."

She released him, and he scrambled up.

They went at it again. He knocked her down once, and pinned her twice. She managed to pin him once only temporarily before he reversed their positions.

An hour and a half later, he ended the session. Emily bent over at the waist, her hands gripping her knees, her breath coming in gasps. If not for the super fast healing her tainted blood gave her, she was sure she'd be sporting huge bruises. Several wisps of her hair had long escaped the braid and were plastered to her sweaty forehead. She idly wondered how effective the wipes were going to be, and whether they would even work on her hair.

"That was brutal!" she gasped when she'd gotten enough breath to speak. She looked expectantly at him, waiting for his verdict.

John smiled. "Not bad," he hedged.

Of course Emily knew that coming from John, 'not bad' was high praise, and was the most she was getting from him. She gave him a big grin full of pride. "Thanks! But my mom always said good is the enemy of great, so I guess I have a ways to go."

John shook his head slightly and held back a grin. Emily's eagerness reminded him of himself when he'd been younger.

He'd joined the Marines at the ripe old age of seventeen, with all the fervour and conviction of youth. Of course the war had duly cured him of his romanticism, but if he was ever given a do-over, he knew he'd enlist again. Being a soldier had moulded him into the man he was. He'd gained discipline and learned about brotherhood. As an only child, brotherhood had been one thing he'd never really understood, until the fields of Vietnam. Nothing, not even blood, forged a bond between men quite like fighting side by side, especially in a hostile foreign land. It was why John understood the bond between his sons more than anyone, probably even more than they did. Sam and Dean were bonded not only by blood, but by fire and pain, tragedy and loss and by fighting side by side, and watching each other's backs. It was a bond that had somewhat extended to their sister.

Being a soldier had also taught John about sacrifice and honour. And it was as an enlisted man that he'd learnt the credo that he used to make his life as a hunter, bearable. His captain, a man who hadn't made it back home, had often quoted 'G.K. Chesterton' to the company John had been part of. '_The true soldier fights, not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.'_

The quote hadn't made much sense to John then, nothing about that war had made much sense, but he now understood those words and related to them as a hunter. It was true he passionately hated the things he hunted, he hated that they had taken his wife from him, and stolen his happiness and normalcy. But the love he had for his sons and lately for his daughter, was far greater than the hate. And it was for them that he hunted. Saving lives was an honourable bonus, and revenge the ultimate reward, but the primary focus of his mission was a secure future for his children. He hoped he succeeded in securing that future for them, but if he failed, at least he'd leave them well equipped to survive. Well, except for Adam. He wondered, and not for the first time if he was doing a disservice to Adam in not letting him know about the supernatural and how to protect himself. But had he really done the other three a favour by exposing them to this life? They would probably never live normal lives again, probably never have normal relationships. John looked at his daughter. She might not even live to see her nineteenth birthday. Anything could happen to Sam and Dean despite their fighting prowess. Was it them he'd done the disservice to? These were the doubts that plagued him doggedly. Had he done right by any of his children? He didn't know. He supposed it was a morbid case of 'damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

He shook his head to clear it. Second guessing himself helped no one. He turned to Emily. "Good is the enemy of great, uh? Your mom said that?"

"Yeah. Don't ask me if it was an original quote, I have no idea!" she shrugged, trying for nonchalance even though the topic of her parents always made her heart cinch painfully.

"She must have been quite the woman."

"She was … awesome!"

John smiled at the word use. Months ago, she'd have said 'amazing' or something like that. Obviously, she was slowly picking up her brothers' lingo, the same way she was mirroring some of their gestures, layering them with her own. "Bet this wasn't the life she would have wanted you to live."

"Is it ever not!" Emily laughed. "She and my dad didn't believe in the paranormal. I didn't either. If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be hunting supernatural monsters, I'd have laughed in your face!"

John chuckled. Twenty two years ago, he had been a sceptic too.

"But the reveal wasn't funny." Emily added as she remembered the reaver attack.

John could just imagine the panic and fear, and lack of control she'd felt then. He'd felt all those things the night Mary had died. The discovery of this other world had indeed been traumatic, for him as well as for his sons. "For what it's worth, if it were up to me, I wouldn't have had you exposed to this life."

"I know. But ignorance isn't always bliss. So …" she trailed off.

"We play the hand we're dealt."

"And kick ass at the game!" That was how Laura Avis, used to finish that saying.

John smiled and nodded in approval.

"Right, I bet you're hungry. I'll let you get cleaned up, and I'll send your brothers down with breakfast." He exited the room.

Upstairs he knocked on his sons' room door and popped his head in when he got an affirmative answer. Sam was up, and on his laptop and from the look of him had already had a shower. Dean was still asleep, sprawled out on the bed just like he had as a child. John hid a smile and asked Sam to wake Dean up, and have him make breakfast and send some down to Emily. He was already exiting the room when Sam reached over and poked Dean hard.

"What time is it?" Dean groaned without opening his eyes.

"Quarter to seven."

"Sammy, you insomniac bastard, I'm going to kill you!" came the growled grumble.

"Bring it!" Sam answered impishly.

"Bitch!"

Sam never got to reply because John opened the door again and cut in, more forcefully than planned. "Get a move on you two!"

Dean was out of the bed in a flash, almost tripping over the jeans that he'd dropped on the floor last night. "Yessir!"

John closed the door and went to have himself a quick shower, secure in the knowledge that Dean would do his bidding.

"You should have woken me up!" Dean grumbled accusingly, picking up the jeans that had almost made him crack his head.

"I did!"

"Before dad came over!"

"Like you would have listened! Now stop bitching and get a move on. It appears we're on breakfast duty."

"Go get started, I'll join you after I've showered." Dean said. He was glad he could now delegate that duty to Sam. Dean had always done the cooking and apparently so had Jessica, and as a result, Sam had never learnt how to cook until Emily's recent intervention. Sam would never in a million years be a chef; there were only a handful of dishes he could cook, but at least now he wasn't likely to poison anyone with his cooking, nor would he burn himself or explode the kitchen or the house.

"Where do you think dad was heading, idiot? You'll have to shower after breakfast."

"You're insufferable this morning!" Dean complained. "I'll wait. Dad doesn't spend hours in the shower like you, princess!"

"Fine, find me in the kitchen!" Sam huffed and left the room.

"Too easy!" Dean smiled and flopped back on his bed.

Emily cleaned up as best as she could. The wipes would definitely never replace a shower or bath, but they were remarkably efficient, at least on her body; they didn't do much for her hair. After the cleaning attempt, she put it in a tight high bun so it wouldn't touch her face. Her dress was too disgusting to be worn again. She'd sweated in it through the harrowing supernatural healing, spent the night in it after passing out in an alcoholic haze, and had just had an epic workout in it. So she wrapped herself up in a bed sheet and called Sam's phone, figuring that of the two brothers, he was the one most likely awake.

He answered on the second ring, with a concerned, almost panicked 'Are you okay?'

"I'm fine, really I am. I just need a change of clothes. The dress I've got is foul!"

"Sure! You want anything in particular?"

"Sweats and a tee should do. Thanks. Oh and I'm really, really hungry, so bring as much food as Missouri will let you get away with."

"Actually, right now, I'm the one in charge of the kitchen, so you're in luck."

"Awesome! What's on the menu?"

"Just wait and see, Sparky. Gotta go!" Sam hang up and went back to cooking.

Emily flopped back on the bed. "Waiting is the suckiest!"

And she didn't just mean waiting for clothes and food. She was on death row waiting to see if her appeal, which in this case was Missouri's potion, worked. Otherwise, she was waiting for execution by way of a silver bullet.


	21. Chapter 20

After his shower, John sought out Bobby and Missouri. He was surprised to find Sam in the kitchen and made a mental note to order pizza or something. He'd take extra calories over food poisoning any day. He wondered what had possessed Dean to leave the breakfast preparations to Sam. And he wondered why Missouri, the kitchen Mussolini was not holding court in her domain.

He found her and Bobby in the study, sitting in silence, the atmosphere solemn. Bobby was taking sips from his flask.

"Isn't it too early for that?" John spoke disapprovingly.

"The pot asked the kettle!" Bobby retorted.

It was a subtle 'fuck you, you functioning alcoholic hypocrite' and John read it as such, bobbing his head apologetically at Bobby before turning to Missouri. He had never seen the woman look so grave and worn, and after getting past the fact that Bobby was having a drink so early in the morning, John noticed the man was looking tired too.

"What's with you two? Did you have a late night or something?" he asked carefully, not ready to be told off again.

"The wolfsbane had to be added at exactly 3 a.m. and the potion had to be watched for instability." Missouri answered.

Any concerns John might have had on hearing the word instability were outweighed by the possibility of the cure being ready. "So it's finished then?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, it's ready if that's what you're asking," she answered rather testily.

"So she can take it now?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake John, let the child enjoy a lie-in."

"She's awake. Been up more than an hour already," John replied.

"You woke her up didn't you?" Missouri said accusingly. "How many times do I have to tell you, teenagers need their sleep almost as much as babies do!" she admonished him.

"I didn't wake her up!" John protested. Missouri's eyes narrowed in disbelief, making him repeat himself more defensively. "I swear I did not wake her up!" What was it about the woman that made him feel like a wayward kid brother?

"Well then, if she's up and ready!" Missouri said in an uppity voice.

She is … she will be, after breakfast. Uggh, which reminds me, Sam's messing about in the kitchen. I gotta put an end to that."

"Why?" Bobby asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

John looked at Bobby in disbelief. "Senility can't have already set in! Have you forgotten just how much of a disaster the boy is in the kitchen?"

"Shows how in touch you are with those kids," Bobby said, unable to keep a note of scorn from his voice. "Sam's alright in the kitchen, let him be."

John wanted to argue, but Bobby was right. His children were almost strangers to him now. He'd dropped the ball too often, and they'd taken it and stopped passing it to him anymore. Sam had probably picked up some cooking skills at college. Neither John, who wasn't much of a cook himself, nor Dean had ever bothered teaching Sam how to cook. It was so much easier and faster for Dean to do it, so that meal preparation didn't eat into the time allocated for training. With a pang, John realised he hadn't contributed much to his sons' lives outside of hunting. He'd been too busy, too impatient, too focused on his quest to impart other skills.

By the time Dean came downstairs, Sam was almost finished with the breakfast preparations and didn't need any help. He also refused to get baited by his brother, instead sending Dean off to get clothes for Emily.

"You're no fun this morning!" Dean grumbled as he slunk off. He hoped Emily wasn't in a similar mood.

Emily yelped and tightened the bed sheet around herself when a knock sounded at the door. She cracked it open to find Dean. He laughed heartily at her makeshift outfit before handing her the clothes he'd brought. Closing the door, she dressed hurriedly, smiling at the fact that with all the different variety of under garments she had, Dean had chosen to bring her a sports bra and boyshorts. For such a womaniser, he was quite the prude.

"You can come in now!" she bellowed and he popped in, unbelievably energetic for a non-morning person. "Where's breakfast? I'm dying here! I could even risk wearing the ring and going up there!"

Dean laughed, "Samantha Stewart the Hun is on it, give him a few minutes. So how did you like rooming with dad? Did he wake you up and make you do crunches and pushups?"

"He didn't wake me up, but we did have a sparring match."

"Yep, that's dad for you! Won't let a room this size stop him! So how did you do?" Dean grabbed a book, flipped through it and tossed it back on the table. He picked up another and treated it the same way.

"Not bad," Emily smiled, "his words!"

"Yeah? That's my girl!" Dean said with genuine pride. The two high-fived.

"So what're you doing today? Because from the look of things, I am going to have to live vicariously through you!"

"You know I don't make plans. Making plans just gives the universe something to mess up. Plans are up there with the statement nothing can possibly go wrong now! I go with the flow."

Even though he said it lightly, almost jokingly, Emily knew he was speaking fact. Heck, he didn't even set alarms.

"Well, I'm not a superstitious moron like you, and besides, my life isn't a bed of roses right now, so the universe can go ahead and do its worst! This is what I've got planned today, I'm going to try and do some coding, if I can remember how, because it's been ages since I last tried. Then I'll read some, play my guitar, and who knows maybe I'll write some music, then kill myself from boredom!"

Dean laughed, "You know what, some time between the guitar and the suicide, I'll come down and keep you company, and maybe I can convince Bobby to let me, and persuade Sam to help bring the TV down here! And we can watch and laugh at bad horror movies."

"Well, now that sounds like a plan!" Emily laughed.

"Oh sweet Lord, don't say that!" Dean squawked in a pretty impressive imitation of Missouri. Emily cracked up.

"Guys? Open up!" Sam called out from beyond the steel door.

"Breakfast!" Emily was up like a shot.

Sam hadn't made anything fancy, just scrambled eggs, sausages, and bacon, but everything was well prepared and plentiful, and there was coffee.

The siblings ate enthusiastically all the while having a lively but zany debate that started with Emily remarking, "Imagine if a theme song played every time you did something?"

"That would be awesome!" Dean enthused.

"That would be annoying!" Sam said at the same time.

Both Emily and Dean had rolled their eyes at him. "Captain Killjoy!" Dean grumbled.

"Forgive me for not being an idiot!" Sam had retorted.

"What would your waking up theme song be?" Emily chose to ignore Sam's jibe and turned to Dean.

Dean thought about it for a split second then grinned, "Depends on who I wake up with!"

"What?" Emily frowned confused by the statement.

"Well, if I had a hot overnight date, it would be AC/DC's You shook me all night long!"

"Gross over-sharing!" Emily shuddered theatrically.

Sam smiled despite himself.

"Yeah well, you asked!" Dean's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Yeah, I did, regrettably!" Emily sighed. "Okay, what about under normal circumstances? No, let me rephrase that before you get more ridiculous! What about when you wake up alone?"

The grin was replaced by a small thoughtful frown, as he tried to sift through all the songs he knew. "Mmm, I don't know if you know the song, Face the day by Great White," he finally answered.

"Yeah, I know it." Emily said playing air guitar and singing the chorus.

Sam had never heard the song before, but when Emily sang the chorus, he laughed. "Figures you'd choose that one Dean, considering how much you hate mornings!"

Emily laughed too, but she knew the song quite well and her smile wavered as she thought about the verses. She wondered whether Dean was saying more with that choice of song than just not being a morning person. The lyrics, '_Give me the night, it's more forgiving, Hold back the light from my eyes,_ _Please stay, invisible darkness, Can't see the tears I cry_' came to mind and made her appraise him differently. She realised he was walking wounded, only he was really good at hiding it.

"What would yours be?" Dean asked her hurriedly, having seen her eyes darken in thoughtful sadness. After the curse, the electrocution and the reaper, Dean had on a few occasions caught Emily looking at him like that. Like she had learnt just how flimsy the stitches holding him together were. She never did more than look, never tried to get him talking, but he was sure her restraint wasn't going to last long.

Emily saw the 'deer in headlights' look Dean gave her and knew he was worried she would start psychoanalysing him and trying to get him to talk. The last hunts had seriously compromised his faith in himself and made him question his ability to watch over her and Sam. She wanted to tell him he was wrong; she and Sam had been worried for him, but they had never stopped believing in him, or trusting him. But he was currently skittish about any topic he didn't feel in control of, and he was not ready to talk about the helplessness and vulnerability he'd felt during those last hunts. Instead he preferred to focus on his siblings, and their wellbeing. She knew it was his coping mechanism. She knew that she and Sam were his distractions, his reasons for going on, his main or probably only source of stability and security. So she knew better than to make him centre stage. The best way to help him was to let him reprise and relish the role he knew best; that of the protective big brother.

So she smiled cheekily at his question and once again burst into song this time rather loudly, startling both him and Sam. "Are you ready for this!" she sang.

"Yes we are, you didn't have to be so dramatic about it!" Dean rolled his eyes.

"No, that's my morning theme song, Are you ready for this by Jock Jams, well, technically it's by 2 Unlimited."

There was a stunned silence then Dean chuckled. "I suppose it fits … you've got the energy of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck put together!" He then proceeded to try and sing the beats of the song.

Emily began to protest the Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck crack, but Dean's singing enthusiasm made her join him. Sam smiled at them. Except in a few instances, Emily was a morning person unlike Dean so it wasn't surprising she'd chosen such an upbeat song. He was a little surprised it wasn't a blues or rock song, but on further consideration, he decided he shouldn't be astonished at all; Emily had an eclectic taste in music after all.

"What about you, Sam?" Emily asked after she and Dean were all sang out.

"I know it's going to be some emo song!" Dean groaned.

"Nothing's wrong with emo songs!" Emily retorted. "You're such a song snob!"

"Do you two want to know or not?" Sam asked them with a mock glare. Emily nodded eagerly, Dean waved him on lazily.

"I'm Alive …"

"By Celine Dion?" Dean snickered in amused disbelief.

"By Don Fardon!" Emily guessed at the same time.

"Screw you, Dean!" Sam gave his brother an evil side-eye that made him crack up.

"Well, you're such a girl, I really thought you were talking about Celine Dion!" Dean defended himself, but the smirk on his face was not endearing him to Sam.

"You know it was originally by Tommy James and the Shondells? I like their version too, but Don's one is more fun. That's a brilliant choice Sam! Seriously, I love that song!" Emily enthused, "Except of course I sing girl instead of man! Because obviously I'm not a man! Oh my Pythagoras, I haven't listened to it in ages!"

Sam stopped glaring at Dean to smile at Emily. She jumped up, undocked the iPod and located the song, then docked it again. The song began playing.

When she returned to the bed, she punched Dean. "How many times do I have to tell you, don't use girl like an insult!"

"Ow, sorry, my bad!" Dean rubbed his arm. "Jesus, why can't you hit like a g …" he trailed off with a sheepish smile.

"There's hope for him yet!" Sam grinned at Emily.

"I like this song. Okay, I have to admit you're not such a dork!" Dean commented as he replayed the tune.

Sam gave his brother one last evil look and returned to his breakfast.

"What would your training theme be?" Dean asked with his mouth full.

"You're disgusting!" both Sam and Emily protested.

When John and Missouri came in an hour later, the three siblings had long finished their breakfast, gone through themes for every activity they could think of, discussed TV show themes and were currently debating whether pirates were cooler than ninjas.

"It's really amazing how you three never run out of things to say to each other." Missouri smiled wistfully. Not for the first time, she wondered what having siblings would have been like. John had often wondered the same too.

"Is that the potion?" Emily asked.

"Yes it is. Are you ready?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, might as well. Just … eh, tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"

"Never tasted it." She'd never even made it before today.

"Oh … 'kay. Bring it on."

Missouri carefully measured out half a cup of the potion and handed it to Emily, who sniffed it before taking a cautious sip.

"Bleurghhh, this is foul!" she said punctuating each word for emphasis.

"You have to finish it." John said.

Emily rolled her eyes but resisted the urge to tell him 'I know!' and finished the potion. "If I never have to drink that thing again, it will be so soon!" she complained.

"Twice a day for seven days." Missouri informed her without missing a beat.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. Exactly half a cup, anything less won't be effective, and anything more will kill you."

There was a dead stunned silence as the information was assimilated. From the look in Missouri's eyes, it was obvious she was telling the truth, without even a hint of exaggeration.

She grabbed the tray Sam had brought down. "Right, I'll take this with me, but one of you is doing the washing up!" she said wagging a finger at Dean and Sam, and making a hasty exit.

"Well, that brought the mood down!" Emily deadpanned, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn't work.

"Dean, outside." John said hooking a finger in the direction of the door.

Emily and Sam watched them go with suspicious looks on their faces.

"Bobby and Missouri are driving to Blue Earth to get supplies from Pastor Jim. I've decided to head out with them. I trust you'll hold down the fort?" John began without preamble as soon as they were outside.

"Yeah." Dean answered simply. "I've been holding the front since I was four, it's nothing new!" he added silently in his head.

"Good." was John's answer.

"You're welcome, dad!" Dean thought sarcastically then turned and returned to the room.

"What did he want?" Sam demanded.

"One guess," Dean said bitterly.

"He's leaving, isn't he?" Sam guessed just as bitterly as his brother. Dean nodded. "Figures!" Sam spat in disappointed frustration.

"But he's coming back, right?" Emily asked.

"He didn't say," Dean answered. The last time John had said he was heading out, he'd actually meant a longer break than Dean had thought, and had been unreachable in that whole time. So Dean had learnt to lower his expectations of his father's sticking around ability. He'd hoped Emily's experience with John would be different, but apparently not.

Sam had stopped relying on John a long time ago and was not surprised this time, but he still couldn't help feeling let down. He'd hoped Emily would never have to feel that way.

"Right, I'm out of here, dorks!" Dean said with forced gusto. "Gotta hit the dishes and clean the guns!"

Silence followed in his wake. "You don't think he's coming back do you?" Emily finally asked Sam.

Sam knew she was talking about John and not Dean. "No!"

"Why?" The question was ambiguous, but Sam knew she was asking him why he thought that of their father, not why John wasn't coming back.

"He's got a reputation for it." Sam said. "I'm sorry."

Emily looked at her brother with sad eyes. It was her who should be feeling sorry for him, and Dean. No wonder the two were fiercely attached to each other. John had obviously never been a reliable constant in their lives.

"I've got you and Dean." she said with feeling. She meant both connotations of the statement; that she was content to have just the two of them, and that they could lean on her too.

Sam seemed to understand what she meant, because he smiled and said, "Thanks."

Enveloped by the music playing from the docked iPod, both settled into their activities, Emily writing letters and Sam translating a latin tome.

The first sign of trouble was when Emily reduced the volume of the playing music. "It's messing with my concentration," she lied in answer to Sam's mildly curious glance. It was giving her a headache. The reduced volume helped only marginally, so five minutes later, she stopped the player. With the silence, the headache was bearable.

Then she began to feel cooler, and remarked nonchalantly about the change in temperature. Sam didn't think much about the comment, as he was wearing a flannel shirt over his t-shirt while she was just in a tee. He figured it was within reason that the room had gotten cooler, and he'd just not noticed it. He remedied the problem by going upstairs to her room and getting her a jumper.

Half an hour later, she made the remark again, this time making Sam pause in concern. He turned to look at her and was surprised to find that she was rubbing her arms. He was sure it wasn't that cold in the room. With his heart suddenly beating faster, he turned her swivel chair round to face him, ignoring her yelped protest. Her eyes were glassy, and her face was shiny with a light sheen of sweat. He put a hand to her forehead and she swiped it away with an impatient mutter, but the heat he'd felt for that short moment was shocking.

"Rae, you're burning up! You're sick!" he exclaimed. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed earlier. She couldn't have gotten a fever that high in so short a time.

"I feel fine!" she protested. It was a lie, she felt like death. She was so cold, it was like the cold was emanating from within her and spreading outward. She wasn't sure she would ever get warm again. She knew she was sick, knew it was a fever. A killer headache, feeling cold while burning hot, intolerance of sound, those were classic signs, her classic signs. She knew the next one would be drowsiness, followed by nausea, nothing serious, nothing to call home about.

Emily hated being sick. Being sick was an inconvenience, it kept you away from the important stuff. It made you weak and helpless. It was something that wasn't important in and of itself; you took some pills, rested, and drank plenty of fluids and you were all better. And yet despite its unimportance, being sick drew attention. She hated having attention for such a non-issue. Attention not for something she had achieved, but for something that had just happened to her. She hated being sick. But whether she hated it or not, there was no denying she was sick. Damn, if this was the effect of the potion, it sure worked fast.

"That's a lie and you know it!" Sam called her out.

"So sue me!" the belligerence that always accompanied her convalesce was already manifesting.

"Just get into your bed. You know you want to." Sam spoke gently but firmly.

Emily wanted to protest, but had she no energy and there was really no point, because she did indeed want to get into her bed. Being contrary would hurt her and no one else.

Sam was shocked when Emily picked herself off the chair and crawled into the bed without complaint. Any other day, she would have put up a fight just for the principle of it and he knew she had to be feeling really awful, not to have resisted. He also didn't miss the swallowed moan when her head hit the pillow.

She curled onto her side and pulled the covers over her head. Sam watched her for a beat then left the room to get his brother. Dean would definitely want to know what was going on. Besides, he was better qualified at nurturing than Sam was. He was the one who'd nursed Sam and sometimes their father through illnesses and injuries. Sam had tried through the years to reciprocate the care, but even when sick or injured, Dean never completely relied on Sam. Sam was Dean's little brother, his responsibility. He was to be taken care of and protected in every way possible, and Dean had taken that to mean their roles should never be reversed for anything. He never let himself be looked after. Even during the hunt in Greenville, when he had been incapacitated by a curse, and had given Emily and Sam a lot of leeway, he had refused all but the most basic assistance. Sam therefore did not feel equipped to look after Emily the way he knew Dean could.

He found Dean spray painting the roof of the impala. He was surprised by the speed at which his brother had done the repair job. Dean could be surprisingly focused.

"Hey, I wanted to give you a heads up. Rae is sick. I think she's got a fever. She's shivering, but burning up, and she's in bed."

Dean startled, "Dammit!" he swore loudly, wiping his hands with jerky moves on his pants. "Just what we needed!" He took in the troubled, agitated look on his brother's face and tamped down on his fear fuelled anger with a sigh. "But … it's hardly surprising. I mean the wolf venom is like an infection, and her body is fighting it, so a fever is to be expected. This isn't necessarily a complication," he continued in a calmer voice trying to reassure his brother and himself.

"Right." Sam played along. "And just like any other fever, we cool and hydrate."

"Yeah, too bad we can't give her Tylenol. That would have helped." Dean groused. Missouri had expressly banned Emily from taking any medication, for fear it would nullify the potion.

They went to the kitchen to get the things they'd need; a basin of water, a terry towel and a glass of juice.

Emily was burrowed in the bed.

"Thermometer," Dean mouthed to Sam before sitting down next to their sister.

Sam left the room again.

"Hey, Rae," Dean called, gently pushing the blanket aside. Emily grabbed it back and covered up.

"Leave me alone!" she wailed, teeth chattering.

"I can't do that. As your brother, it's my job to be annoying and obnoxious. Now, can you sit up for me?" Dean spoke in a soft, gentle voice, as if to a child.

"No, I don't want to sit up. I want to sleep! I don't feel well." Emily whined just like a child. Under different circumstances, she would have baulked at being talked to like a child.

Dean fought the urge to laugh at her tone. "Okay, how about this, you sit up, and drink this juice, and let me take your temperature, then I'll leave you alone. I'll even get you another blanket so you're not so cold," he bargained. The tactic had always worked on Sam and Dean hoped it would work on Emily too.

It didn't. She didn't move, except for a shudder. Dean run a hand through his hair in exasperation, resisting the urge to grab her and force her up. Sam returned to the room clutching the thermometer, and he'd had the presence of mind to bring icepacks. He raised his eyebrow at seeing his siblings in virtually the same positions he'd left them in. Dean shook his head ruefully, and made a throttling gesture. Sam almost smiled. When he was sick, Dean was at his stubbornest, and it looked like he was getting a taste of his own medicine through Emily.

"Don't make me sing you a lullaby!" Dean threatened.

Emily grumbled incoherently, then sat up slowly.

"I can't believe that worked!" Dean was genuinely surprised. "Is my singing really that bad?" he added.

Emily smiled weakly. "No, but obviously you're not going to leave me alone until I do what you want."

"Damn straight I'm not. Now let's see just how hot you are."

"I'm smoking hot!" Emily quipped softly, accepting the thermometer from Sam and holding it under her tongue.

"Ha! Smoking hot my foot! Right now, Rumsfeld would win a beauty contest if you were the other competitor!" Dean retorted with a grin. If Emily was still quipping like an idiot, then she couldn't be that sick.

When the thermometer beeped, she took it out and frowned down at the reading. Knowing her, and her antics, Dean snatched away the instrument before she could think of resetting it. A 102 reading was concerning, but not too worrying.

"Well, don't think that's excuse enough to put any of those things on me!" Emily wrapped her arms around herself and glared at Sam, gesturing at the icepacks in his arms.

"They'll help. Tell her Dean." Sam answered.

"It won't be for long. Just to get your temperature down." Dean said handing her the juice. He didn't have to tell her to sip not gulp, she'd tear his head off if he did.

"But I'm already cold!" she complained.

"Well, you're feeling cold, but you're actually not." Sam explained as if she didn't know.

"I know that Doctor Obvious! I'm not an idiot. I've got a fever, and it hasn't scrambled my brain yet!" Emily snarked waspishly.

"Down girl!" Dean laughed.

In the end she acquiesced and the icepacks were placed in her armpits and behind her neck and a cool cloth was placed on her forehead. Her brothers held back the covers despite her complaints. She didn't think she would fall asleep with such hinderances, but in less than five minutes, she'd drifted off.

After half an hour, Sam removed the packs, and the cloth and covered her with just a bed sheet, noting with delight that her temperature had lowered. Dean turned to leave the room. "If anything happens …"

"Call you," Sam completed his brother's sentence, "yeah, I know!"


	22. Chapter 21

It was 3 pm when Emily groaned, drawing Sam's attention. "Rae?" he called thinking she was having a nightmare.

Emily opened her eyes, slowly, almost reluctantly. Usually bright and twinkling with mirth or burning with ire, the amber orbs were glassy, red rimmed and dull. She frowned blankly for a moment then closed her eyes again.

Sam felt his heart drop. He rose so suddenly, the chair crashed behind him. He stood beside the bed and put a hand to Emily's forehead. "Shit, shit, shit!" he exclaimed, withdrawing hurriedly. He reached over to the desk and grabbed his phone and the thermometer. He hit speed dial one even as he placed the thermometer under Emily's tongue, surprised and alarmed when she did not complain or resist like she was wont to.

Dean answered on the first ring. "What is wrong?"

"You've got to come down now!" Sam answered urgently.

The fear and panic in Sam's voice propelled Dean more than anything would have. He dropped the can and raced to the panic room.

The thermometer beeped as Dean crushed into the room.

"What? What is it?" he yelled.

"105!" Sam said in disbelief. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how she got so sick, so fast," he added thickly, stepping out of Dean's way.

Dean tore the bed sheet off of Emily, and she whimpered pitifully. "It's not your fault, Sammy," Dean reassured his brother. "We need to cool her down, but the packs won't cut it. Best option is the shower!"

"But if she leaves this room without her ring, she's a moving bullseye!" Sam pointed out.

"Then let's put her ring back on."

"Dean, it's silver, it's toxic to her."

"No, it's toxic to the werewolf venom inside her, and it seems the potion is too, but neither will kill her … at least I hope not … I don't know!" Dean said frantically. "But the one thing we both know without a doubt, is what a fever this high will do to her. So go get the ring."

Sam tore out of the room. The ring was in Emily's room. Missouri had been intrigued by its purpose and power and had taken it so she could study it. Sam hoped she'd left it in plain sight because he had no desire to go through the woman's thing.

Dean sat next to Emily, and swept the hair off her face, ignoring the heat he felt. "Hey," he said gently, "all this because I said you weren't smoking hot? You really are an overachiever!"

Emily opened her eyes in response. Glassy and unfocused, they scared him almost as much as the fever. She didn't say anything, she was far too lethargic to, but Dean knew his joke had registered. Obviously, her brain wasn't fried yet. At least that was something.

"Okay, let's get you up. Don't want Sammy thinking we're slacking off. You know how he gets, disapproving bitch face and all."

Emily shook her head very slightly. Her reluctance clear in the gesture.

"Come on, I know you don't want to get up, but we need to cool you off." Dean insisted.

Sam raced back into the room with the ring.

"Good, there he is, let's get a move on!" Dean wrapped an arm around Emily's shoulder, tucked her into his side, and stood in a sudden flourish. Emily promptly threw up, eliciting a curse from Dean and making Sam gag and stumble backwards. Dean glared at him.

"Sam! Sammy, don't you dare! Seriously, I'll hurt you if you throw up too!" Dean snipped as he shifted Emily into a better position without rubbing her hair against his stained shirt. "Now get the damn ring on!"

Sam swallowed convulsively, and stepped closer. "Oh God, Dean, the smell is so … urggh!" he gagged again, as he slipped the ring onto Emily's finger. She immediately began making a low keening sound that clawed at her brothers' hearts.

"Sam, I'm not cleaning up after you too. So help me God, you'll lick this floor clean. I don't understand why you're acting like a wuss, you've seen worse things!"

"I know, but the smell!" he gagged again.

Dean knew what Sam was talking about. This was neither brother's first tango with vomit, but this smelt so bad, he could feel his nose hairs burn. It was only his innate older sibling nature that kept him from acting like Sam. "Will it be easier for you to walk ahead or behind us?" he asked his brother rather disparagingly.

"Urggh … ahead!" Sam scurried to get in front of his siblings.

"Seriously, if we could choose our family, I wouldn't have chosen you two. I doubt anyone in their right mind would have!" Dean grumbled, using his exasperation to try and keep his mind off the smell, and the fact that he was covered in foul vomit.

Knowing that filling the bathtub would take long, Sam started the shower, tweaking the knobs until the spray's temperature and pressure were just right. Then carrying Emily, Dean walked into the shower fully clothed down to his shoes. When the tepid water hit them, Emily animated enough to fight weakly and beg to be let out. Dean held onto her, and slid carefully against the shower wall, until he was seated on the shower floor cradling her.

Sam went to her room then theirs and returned with towels. He placed them on the towel rack, removed his shoes and joined his siblings in the shower, sitting on the other side of Emily. The stall was small and it was truly a tight fit, but Dean looked at him over her head, communicating his gratitude at the solidarity, and Sam knew he'd done the right thing.

The cascading water washed away the vomit and hid Sam's silent tears. It however couldn't block out the sound of Emily's sobs as she weakly asked them to let her out.

"I'm so sorry, Rae," Dean spoke softly, brokenly.

Exhausted, Emily gave up the begging about a minute later and closed her eyes. The brothers weren't sure whether she had passed out or was just sleeping, but were relieved either way.

When the vomit was all gone, Sam stood and squeezed a blob of the shower gel over Emily and Dean, and watched the soap form white extravagant bubbles which were soon washed away. He repeated the process until the smell was gone. Then he sat back down.

"Do you think this is creepy? The three of us in a shower together? I mean we're fully dressed, and all, but still! I don't know the rules of these things!" Dean spoke suddenly.

Sam knew something else was bothering Dean, but his brother was a king of beating around the bush, and would talk randomly and inconsequentially and Sam would play along until Dean voiced his real fear. "Well, we're all clothed so that removes the ick factor, which by the way would be the more appropriate word. Icky not creepy."

"Icky? Is that a real word, or did you just make it up, college boy?"

"You should really read a book once in a while!" Sam retorted.

"I've never failed to express myself with the words I know, Shakespeare!"

"You sure about that?"

Dean thought about it for a moment, "Yep!"

"So says the Duke of bad innuendos!"

"Snob!" Dean grinned.

"Moron!" Sam smiled.

"So you're sure this isn't icky?"

"Well, pretend we came across a waterfall and decided to sit under it."

"That would be stupid!"

"Yeah!" Sam admitted. "But not icky. This isn't either."

"I suppose." Dean accepted. "It's just that with a sister, the rules are different!" After a beat of silence, he added, "So this is all good and not icky, but what happens when we get out of the shower?"

"And there, ladies and gentlemen is his real concern!" Sam thought. And it hadn't been drawn out at all. "We dry her off, get her into clean clothes and put her to bed." he replied smoothly.

"Sammy, she's a girl!" Dean exclaimed.

"Wow, how did I miss that fact?" Sam snorted a laugh.

"How're you not freaking out about this?" Dean frowned.

"She's our sister, our baby sister."

"Exactly!" Dean interrupted.

"And right now, she needs our help. This is not the time to get shy and coy, Dean. I'm sure between the two of us, we can get her dry and dressed without going blind."

They lapsed back into silence.

"Right! That's our cue!" Dean spoke when Emily started trembling. Sam stood and turned off the shower, while Dean stood with Emily. "Your move, then," he looked at Sam.

"Give me a moment." Sam raced out of the bathroom and to their room where he got out of his wet clothes, dried himself off and dressed. When he returned, he grabbed a towel and held it to his chest. "Give her here."

Dean handed her over and Sam wrapped her loosely in the towel. Then having Dean steady her in place, he managed to get her clothes off from under the towel though it took him a considerable amount of time.

"Trust you to know how to undress a girl without looking or copping a feel, Sammy boy!" Dean laughed, as Sam dropped the wet clothes on the bathroom floor.

"You're despicable, you know that, right?" Sam told his brother as he strode away to Emily's room. "Bring a towel for her hair."

In the room, they skirted around Missouri's things, and placed Emily on the far right end of the bed. Sam briskly dried her off and together, they dressed her in a light cotton sundress as getting her into pyjamas proved rather cumbersome. Dean felt her forehead. She was considerably cooler. "I think the shower helped. Now the icepacks should be able to keep it constant." He left to go change out of his wet clothes too.

Sam sat next to Emily and run a hand through her hair. It was still slightly damp and he hoped they didn't give her pneumonia too, because that would really suck.

"Hang in there, Rae. Please hang in there."

As if in answer to his plea, Emily began to convulse. At first Sam thought she was pulling away from him and felt a little hurt, then he realised what was happening. He bellowed Dean's name.

Dean raced back into the room still pulling on his t-shirt. "What?" he demanded as he was temporarily blinded by the shirt.

"She's seizing!" Sam said urgently.

Dean's head popped through the collar, "Jesus! Can't we ever catch a break? Are you timing it?" he asked, knowing there was nothing much he could do.

"Shit! Forgot! I don't have my phone or watch on me anyway."

Neither did Dean. He looked around wildly and his eyes fell on the antique clock on the nightstand. It was one of those wind up bronze affairs with two bells, and it could make quite the racket when used as an alarm. For some reason, Emily loved the thing. She'd found it in Benson's flea market. It was Dean who had gotten it working for her, but she often forgot to wind it up. Today was no exception. Dean grabbed it and quickly wound it up.

"Dean, her lips are turning blue!" Sam sounded panicked.

"Calm down Sammy. That happens with these things." Dean spoke calmly. If he stayed calm, Sam stayed calm. He did not look up from the watch. "Five minutes. Not more than five minutes, please!" he chanted in his mind. He ignored the growing wet patch around Emily. That was to be expected too. He'd take care of it later. Six minutes passed! "Oh no!" he panicked on the inside while remaining stoic on the outside. Seven minutes! "Fuck! Please don't do this to us!"

Sam knew five minutes could seem like hours in a crisis so he resisted the urge to ask until he was about to burst. "How long has it been, Dean? How long?" he shouted when Dean didn't appear to have heard him.

Dean considered lying, but over the years, Sam had uncannily learnt how to read him.

"Eight minutes, not factoring in the untimed part." he spoke evenly.

"What? Eight minutes is too long, Dean! We need to take her to a hospital."

"You know we can't!"

Sam didn't push the issue because he heard the thread of helpless desperation in his brother's voice. Mercifully, the seizure stopped at nine minutes, just a few seconds before Sam could start tearing out his hair. Emily's laboured breathing though expected was terrifying. They placed her in the recovery position and waited. They only began to breathe normally when she did. They waited another five minutes before returning her to the shower to clean her up again. Dressed in another dress, they took her to their room.

"Stay with her, I'll go clean up." Dean told Sam.

"No, I'll do it."

"You almost threw up at the smell of that sick, princess, and now that it has had time to mature, it's probably worse."

"You're better than me at this big brother gig."

"Come on Sammy, you're an awesome big brother."

"No, I'm crap at it. I've got no practice!"

"Nonsense, with all your clucking and hovering, you're a natural mother hen, and you've gotten quite a bit of practice since Rae found us, and if I may say so myself, you've got a great example … c'est moi! Besides, I know for a fact that Rae thinks she won the big brother jackpot, and seeing as she's the smart one, it must be true!"

Sam smiled. Dean wasn't one for false flattery, so Sam knew he really was doing fine in his older brother role. "I'm the smart one!" he said sitting down beside Emily.

"Keep telling yourself that!" Dean smirked and left. He stripped the beds in Emily's room and the panic room, replacing the linen, then mopping the floors and the bathroom. Only after putting the linen and towels in the washer did he return to his siblings.

An hour and a half had passed and yet neither sibling had moved. Sam hadn't even reached out to touch Emily as he was illogically afraid that he'd caused the seizure before. Dean sat next to Sam, and bumped him with his shoulder, in a comforting gesture, then he took Emily's hand in his using his fore and middle fingers to feel for a pulse. It was weak and thready.

"D'you think she's dying?" Sam turned to look at Dean. He needed his brother to reassure him the way he had when they'd been children. No matter how outrageous the promise, Sam had always believed his brother. He'd since grown up of course, and realised that sometimes Dean was just as lost and scared as he was, and that the world didn't rotate or stop on his say so. Even then, Sam never stopped believing in his brother, but he'd stopped having unrealistic expectations. However, today, he was willing to believe anything. Dean did not disappoint, but it was hard to ignore the loaded pause before he answered in his legendary forceful way.

"Not on my watch!"

There was a long silence, then Sam finally voiced his concern. "This cure … it's killing her, Dean."

Apparently, Dean's reassurance hadn't worked this time. "It's not killing her, Sammy," he answered, fervently hoping it was true. "I think it's just the venom leaving her system. Besides, without it, the curse would kill her. You know that."

"Well, technically the curse won't kill her."

"No it won't, but all it'll take is a hunter and a silver bullet and the curse might as well have killed her."

"Not if we can restrain her during full moons." Sam pointed out.

"So what are you saying, that we leave off the cure?"

"It's killing her!"

Dean sighed, there was no convincing Sam today. He changed the subject expertly. "Let's get her back downstairs and remove the ring." At least that would be one discomfort less for Emily, and one thing less to worry about for him and Sam.

He scooped Emily into his arms and Sam led the way. They had just gotten to the bottom of the stairs when the front door opened to reveal John, Bobby and Missouri.

"What the hell is going on? Why did you take her out of the panic room?" John demanded. "Dean?" he shouted when Dean ignored him.

"Not now dad, okay?" Dean yelled back. He had reached the end of his proverbial rope.

Sam's eyes widened in shock. Dean rarely talked back to their father, and it was amazing every time he did.

"She had a 105 fever and we needed to cool her down, so we brought her up to the bathroom and put her in the shower." Sam answered his father's question evenly.

"105? Oh my God!" Missouri breathed.

Dean whirled on the woman, his anger and worry making him fearless. "Oh, and that's not all! She had a seizure that lasted nine minutes. Can you imagine that? Nine fucking minutes! And she hasn't been responsive since passing out in the shower. I don't know what the hell was in that potion, but she is not taking it again!" Then he turned and stalked away. Sam raced after him helping to open the door when they got to the panic room.

"Sorry about that, I'll talk to him!" John spoke to Missouri.

"Don't worry about it. I'll handle it myself." Missouri smiled. She understood Dean's frustration and worry and she empathised with him. She turned to leave then turned back again and wagged a finger in John's face, "And don't you dare go down there and yell at those boys!" She went into the kitchen and refilled the coffee machine. When the coffee brewed, she fixed three cups, and balanced them on a tray with a plate of scones and headed downstairs.

"There's a couple of beers in the fridge!" Bobby pointed out when he spotted the tray.

"With their sister so sick, I doubt they'll touch any alcohol." Missouri admonished, and continued on her way. When she got to the panic room, she called out softly and Sam opened the door. Dean looked up when she walked in. He ran a hand over his head and began to apologise. Missouri placed the tray on the desk and waved away the apology. Dean looked at her suspiciously. "It's not poisoned!" she indicated the coffee and scones. "That's yours, and that's Sam's," she pointed out each individual cup. Dean cautiously reached for his cup and Sam followed his brother's example. She'd made each one's coffee the exact way each liked it.

"How did you know how I drink my coffee?" Sam asked surprised. Dean drank his black, so there was no skill involved in making his, but Sam was very particular about his.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was psychic?" Missouri deadpanned, making Dean chortle. She smiled at him.

They finished their coffee and scones in uneasy silence, which stretched on long after the coffee and scones were gone.

Sam looked at Dean and began bobbing his head in Missouri's direction. Dean shook his head. Sam bobbed his harder. Dean rolled his eyes. Missouri smiled.

"I know what you're both doing!" she announced, startling both of them into sheepish smiles. "You're not idiots, I know you know I came to talk to you about the potion."

"It's killing her." Sam jumped in immediately.

"No, it isn't. I know it has terrible side effects, but you know what else has terrible side effects? Chemotherapy. That doesn't mean it doesn't work."

"But …" Sam started, intending to quote the statistics of chemotherapy.

Dean's here we go again sigh and eye roll made Missouri cut in quickly before Sam warmed up to his topic. "I know it's not easy for you, watching her suffer. Trust me, it breaks my heart too that she has to go through this. But it's for her good, the wolf's poison is strong and so the cure has to be potent as well. You two have to be strong for her, and see this through."

Dean took a deep breath, "Sure!"

"So, tell me about Emily's grandmother. I hear she's psychic or something!" Missouri broke the silence again.

"More like something!" Dean muttered.

When Missouri finally returned upstairs, Bobby had thoughtfully made dinner and disappeared either into his study or his room. She knew that with her and John around, Bobby had felt it was best to take a back seat. The man did not understand how highly Dean, Sam and Emily regarded him. She sighed in consternation at how unaware men could be. Those children needed him, probably even more than they needed John or Missouri. John might be their father, and Missouri the one with the cure, but Bobby was the one they counted on outside their little circle. Sarcastic and a little ornery, he was nevertheless a quiet, unassuming rock in the background; loyal, dependable and extremely protective.

Still shaking her head, she poured out a second dose of the potion, arranged a tray of food, and carried it down to the panic room where it was received with quiet gratitude. She wished them well and retired to her temporary room. She was surprised to find fresh linen on the bed, but didn't question it. As she reached for the lamp on the nightstand, she prayed that the cure worked. She had no point of reference for its effectiveness, and was currently relying on faith. The others did not have to know this.

Emily finally came to at 9 p.m. She curled into a ball and blinked vacantly at her brothers, whose relief at seeing her awake quickly turned into concern at her lethargy. Her temperature was hovering between 100 and 101, so that eased their concern slightly. Sam went upstairs and got her a plate of food, returning with John in tow. Emily gagged at the smell and consequently refused to eat. They couldn't even tempt her to take a bite of a bar of chocolate. Getting her to drink the second dose of the potion was a lesson in patience and perseverance; they had to sit her up and hold her, and hardened their hearts against her tearful pleas. She just as reluctantly drank half a glass of water before curling onto her side again, and drifting into a restless sleep.

John stayed by her side, running a hand through her hair, lost in thought. The brothers returned to their earlier activities though both were surreptitiously watching John with Emily.

In that almost surreal scene, Dean had a poignant glimpse of the father he had lost the night of the fire; the kind, gentle man who had tucked him in bed and read him stories.

Sam watched in surprise. This was a John he'd never known. Even though their father had been gentler with him as opposed to Dean, he'd never really been openly affectionate with either of them. He squeezed their shoulders or patted them on the back if they'd done something deserving of his praise, and he run a hand over them after hunts, checking for injuries, but he'd never hovered like this. Sam supposed it was because John considered them not only as his sons, but as soldiers, but he could never picture Emily as a soldier. Sam smiled at John's misguided profiling, with her remarkable compartmentalisation, Emily was probably more of a soldier than Sam was, at least in temperament if not in skill, though she was quickly bridging her skill gaps.

At 10 o'clock John tried to send both boys to their room, but they were resistant. They pointed out that he'd promised last night was just the one time.

"Well, circumstances have changed, she's so sick now."

"Better reason for me or Sam to stay. She's used to us." Dean caught the look on his father's face and added, "No offence, dad."

"No, you're right." John said sadly.

After a quick debate between the brothers, Dean stayed in the panic room.

At 3 a.m he was woken by a groan from Emily. He was surprised he'd even fallen asleep. Once again, Emily's fever had spiked to 105. Dean tried not to move her suddenly, and he was prepared with a lined trashcan into which she threw up, which considering she had not eaten was quite the feat. He made a quick call to Sam and by the time Sam and John arrived at the door, he was ready to move.

When they got upstairs, they found that Bobby, woken by Sam and John's hurried departure from their room, had had the presence of mind to start running a bath, removing the need for anyone else to get wet as would have been the case in the shower. Missouri helped dry and dress Emily up after. When the seizure began, Sam and Dean should have been less alarmed by it than the others, but they weren't. This one lasted a worrying eleven minutes, and like before, necessitated a return to the bathroom to clean Emily up. It was then decided that she stay in her room with Missouri, and Dean relocated back to his and Sam's room. John elected to go downstairs to sleep on the couch like he usually did when he visited, but Dean wouldn't hear of it. Securing Sam's help, he went to the panic room and returned with the mattress and linen from the cot, which he nonchalantly dropped on the floor.

"Good night! Or good morning! Whatever!" he said wearily and was asleep minutes after laying down.

John shook his head in wonder and got into his borrowed bed which was technically Dean's bed. It was a while though before he and Sam gave in to exhaustion and fell asleep.

The next four days were a nightmarish repeat. Emily suffered through the effects of the cure. Relief came only when she lost consciousness, because even her sleep was restless and pain filled. Awake she was forced to drink the terrible potion which despite her desperate need to regurgitate, she managed to keep down. She couldn't stand anything but water and that was only to remove the taste of the potion from her mouth. Her not eating anything however did nothing to keep the nausea at bay. Her eyes hurt except in dim light, sounds louder than whispers made her head ache, and her skin was overly sensitive.

The days were as much a nightmare for the others as they were for Emily. A pall of gloom fell over the house, as despite their hope, they all imagined the worst. Everyone was exhausted and worried, as twice everyday at exactly 3 am and 3 pm, Emily's symptoms spiralled to such terrifyingly worrisome levels, that her mini-comas were almost welcome. Awake, she wanted nothing and only a combination of cajoling and threatening got her to take the potion, and small sips of water. Sam and Bobby had already advocated the use of an IV on her, worried by her refusal to eat, but Missouri had asked them to hold off a little longer. Everyone else's appetite was affected too. During meals, food was pushed around the plates and then binned. Missouri huffed and puffed then finally gave up cooking as a waste of time, ingredients and energy she didn't have. A small pizzeria not too far away suddenly got brisk business, with an order coming in every other day. The pizza fared only a little better than the food because at least it got frozen instead of binned. Conversations when they occurred were forced and stilted. Getting Emily to survive into the next day had become everyone's purpose.

Except for the duty of getting her dressed, which was left solely to Missouri, they all took turns caring for Emily; keeping her in the bathtub where they could not only keep her body in cool water for the fever, but also wash her down when the seizing led to incontinence or when she missed the trashcan while throwing up. Emily would surely have been mortified about the situation had she been really cognisant of it, but she wasn't. When she wasn't raving from the fever, or unconscious, she was completely listless.

By now Missouri was no longer as confident in the cure as she'd been. A small part of her wondered whether the potion was just killing Emily slowly and whether a silver bullet to the heart wouldn't have been the more merciful way for the poor girl to go.

After the last dose, the fever spiked really high, and Emily was delirious. She cried heartbreakingly for her mom and dad, and not even her brothers or Bobby could comfort her. When she finally sunk into oblivion, everyone were relieved. However, when she did not wake up the next day, everyone went into a meltdown that was directed at Missouri. She tried to reassure them.

"Her body has had enough. She's resting."

"She's unconscious!" Dean yelled. "That is not the same thing as resting!"

"I know, but I think it's better than the fevers and seizures." Missouri's voice was gentle and soothing.

The unpleasant alternatives to Emily's current state gave Dean slight pause.

"Well, is it okay to attach the IV now?" Bobby interjected in the momentary silence. It was of great concern to him and Sam that Emily hadn't eaten or kept much down in the last days.

"Yes, the last dose of the potion should have gone through her system by now." Missouri answered.

Sam and Bobby left immediately.

Dean glared at Missouri. "If she dies, I will never, ever forgive you!" he spoke through gritted teeth before stalking away to follow Sam and Bobby.

"No, not you … he means he won't forgive me." John translated grimly to Missouri who had a shattered look on her face. He knew his sons, and their thought processes. They would blame him, and rightly so. After all, it was him the werewolf had wanted to hurt by going after them and their sister, and it was him who had brought Missouri and her cure. He would never blame her of course. She'd done her best to help. The blame would solely be his. He shook his head as if to clear it, and went outside to tinker with his truck.

In the evening, everyone drifted to different parts of the house. Bobby headed to the comfort of his thoughts, books and whisky in the study. Missouri bustled about in the kitchen and the brothers drifted to Emily's room, and sat in silent vigil by her side until Missouri came in. They then reluctantly headed to their room. John was still rooming with them, but he wasn't in the room. Though it was dark out, it wasn't the usual time they went to bed, but they did just that having no motivation to do anything else. It was Dean's turn to use the bed so Sam was on the floor.

"Do you think we should call Cece?" his voice drifted up to Dean in the darkness.

"Yeah … but I think we should hold off for now."

John was down in the armoury making silver bullets. During the process, he kept thinking how even Sam, the reluctant hunter, had liked this part; the making of the bullets. The intricacy of the process had always intrigued him. John wondered whether Emily had had the chance to witness or participate in the process, and if she had, how she had felt about it. She liked math and puzzles so he imagined she had loved it. He really hadn't had enough time with his daughter, and now she was dying. And he would never get that second chance with his sons, because they wouldn't forgive him if she died. Life really enjoyed using him as a punching bag. He dropped his head on the table and indulged in a silent private cry.

By the time he got to the room he was sharing with his sons, they were asleep. For almost thirty minutes, he lay in the dark just listening to them breathe.


	23. Chapter 22

The day that would be bringing the full moon dawned deceptively bright and unbelievably beautiful.

Emily woke up next to a heavily snoring Missouri and with an IV in her arm. She was thirsty, and so hungry that her stomach felt hollow. She frowned as she tried to piece together how she had gotten back to her own room from the panic room. She could remember the last few days only in snatched non-sequential dreamlike images that barely made any sense. Her stomach grumbled ominously and she decided she'd try piecing together the lost days after eating. She carefully eased the needle out of her arm, pressing her thumb against the puncture site to stop the bleeding. She was temporarily dizzy when she stood and had to put a hand against the bed to steady herself. When she was sure she wasn't going to face plant, she changed out of her pyjamas into a pair of cut-off sweat pants and a t-shirt, and noisily shuffled out of the room. Missouri slept on.

Bobby was in his study, doing his usual unique dance of multitasking. He was having his morning coffee, while peering over a map and relaying coordinates and a description of a pendant to Morgan Jones, a collector of dangerous or potentially dangerous artefacts. At the same time, he was listening to a recording of a Professor of dead languages, trying to decipher whether the ancient Zend verse Rufus Turner had found behind a plaque of a newly opened children's centre in Idaho was a blessing or a curse.

When Bobby heard the sounds in the kitchen, he figured it was Sam. He, Emily and John were consistent early risers, but Emily was indisposed and John had stayed up late into the night finishing the silver bullets and he surely had to still be asleep. Without any help, John had managed to make fourteen silver bullets, and probably would have made more if there had been more silver. Bobby had to hand it to the man; he was dedicated.

Emily walked into the room with a cup of coffee and a plate with four slices of warmed pizza, and a serious case of bed head. Bobby looked up in pleased surprise. He couldn't help the smile that tugged up his lips."Hey Pup! About damn time!" He briefly wondered where that endearment had come from. It had just slipped out. "No, not you Jones!" he added to Morgan, and ended the call with a head shake and a muttered 'idjit'. He leaned over and paused the recording.

Emily laughed. "Pup? That's new!" She carefully put down her cup and plate not wanting to ruin any of Bobby's books some of which were one of a kind and very old. It really never failed to amaze her how extensive Bobby's collection was. Someone really needed to archive the collection. No, she was not volunteering! Still grinning, she went over and kissed Bobby on the cheek like she always did. "Good morning!"

He smiled, revelling in the greeting. Raised by a bully of a father, and a traumatised mother, he'd not been shown much affection, physical or otherwise. His laconic demeanour, cultivated in childhood and refined by his teenage years, had not earned him many friends either. That the beautiful, outgoing Karen had been attracted to him had been nothing short of a miracle, one he thanked God for everyday. She had loved him, and had consistently shown it, even when he felt he didn't deserve it. Then he'd lost her, in a night of confusion, pain and sorrow. Fortunately, Rufus Turner had been there. The man who'd saved Bobby from his possessed wife probably didn't know it, but he'd saved Bobby in more ways than one. He'd also given Bobby a purpose through hunting, and he'd given him friendship. The two were like surrogate brothers, with their similar dry humour and acerbic gruff exteriors that covered soft mushy personalities. But a traumatic outcome in a hunt that had gone south had alienated them from each other.

Once again, Bobby had found himself alone, unloved and unwanted. Through the years that had followed, he'd made himself indispensable by amassing great hunting knowledge and skill. He got respect but it wasn't quite the same as affection, which truth be told was what he really wanted. Then John Winchester, whom he'd come to love with a grudging exasperated fondness reserved for annoying younger brothers, had burst into his life with two little boys, who had come to mean so much to him. Sam, then preferring the name Sammy, had been openly affectionate, giving hugs whenever the urge hit him. Dean on the other hand had been initially suspicious of Bobby, but he'd quickly warmed up. However, the boy had figured he was too old, and too cool for physical shows of affection, only giving in with reluctant grace to his tactile brother, Sam. Then Sam had grown up too, and decided hugs were for babies. Sure he still wore his heart on his sleeve and in those hazel eyes, but the physical affection stage was truly over. Bobby loved those boys, and he knew they loved him back, and he enjoyed the easy camaraderie he shared with them, but he sure missed the hugs and physical contact. Of course he'd never admit it to anyone, not even under the threat of death. He had a reputation to protect after all. He'd quickly assimilated to the new relationship between him and the three Winchesters who he saw sporadically, and was truly content with his lot.

However, life never runs out of curveballs, and when he'd least expected new people to come into his life or heart, Emily had appeared, blindsiding him completely. Having just recently lost a father, and looking desperately for another, she'd latched onto Bobby. At first their intergenerational friendship that had blossomed into a father-daughter like relationship had been out of common loneliness, but the two had discovered a mutual respect and love for each other. The girl who at first meeting came off as aloof and distant, was tactile and expressive; she was a natural hugger and quite the snuggler, and Bobby who had learnt how fleeting such things were, appreciated and accepted that affection with gruff grace and humour, and never took it for granted.

"Well, would you prefer I call you knucklehead?" he growled.

"No, I can live with Pup, but only if you allow me to call you Papa Bear!" Emily grinned, sitting across from Bobby.

"And what would you call John?"

"Papa Wolf!" she answered without hesitation.

Bobby chuckled. God, he'd missed this impertinent girl. He shook his head when she offered him one of the four pizza slices and smiled indulgently when she shrugged and attacked it with a voracity she hadn't had for days. Like everyone else, the thought that she might not make, it had crossed his mind more than once.

Emily saw the look in his eyes. "It was bad, wasn't it?" she asked.

He nodded.

"How bad?"

"Bad," Bobby answered simply. He wasn't ready to relive the dread of the last few days and Emily certainly didn't need to know the details of her condition, some of which were mortifying.

Emily knew she was not going to get particulars of what had gone down in the days she couldn't remember, and the look in Bobby's eyes told her it was best if she didn't know. She could live without that knowledge. Concentrating on her meal, she finished a second slice and took a couple of sips of her coffee before speaking. "So am I cured?"

Bobby looked her over. Her eyes were slightly sunken, and her lips were chapped from the fever that had ravaged her for days, and he didn't know whether it was his imagination or not, but she seemed to have lost a small amount of weight; her face had hollowed out slightly. Other than that, she looked fine. More than fine actually, he thought as he took in her now scarless arms. He was glad those particular scars were gone, and he knew she was happy about it too. Now she wouldn't have to either wear long sleeved clothes or explain and emote about a suicide attempt she hadn't even been complicit in. However, he'd miss the other scars she'd had. The ones that had come from her childhood, from a less complicated time. The spotted ones on and below her knees that attested to the dozens of times she'd skinned herself and ruined her tights, the one near her temple from when she'd taken a flying leap out of a tree house, the one on her left shin from a skateboarding collision with a bench, and the weirdly shaped one just below her nape from burning herself with her mother's hair iron. Bobby had liked those scars, and Emily had worn them proudly, albeit grinning sheepishly as she told each one's story. They were reminders of rash decisions, proof of survival, but most of all, they were evidence of a childhood lived fearlessly.

He knew she'd get other scars, it was inevitable as a hunter, and those marks would be badges of honour, but it saddened him to know that those unique stamps from her childhood were gone forever.

"Your ring isn't giving you trouble now, is it?" Bobby shook himself out of his decidedly mushy thoughts.

After a beat of silence, Emily admitted softly, "Well, it's not burning like before, but there are still twinges."

Bobby knew Emily enough now to know that like her brothers, she understated her discomfort. Also, the fact that she was not meeting his eyes spoke volumes. The twinges were more likely to be bursts of pain, but Bobby decided not to push it. It was too early in the morning to get into an argument with the third stubbornest person he knew. Instead he shrugged in answer, and said the only way to know for sure was to wait for the evening and the full moon.

Emily mulled over the information for so long, eating and drinking distractedly until there was nothing left. She put down the cup. "Bobby?" she began tentatively.

He looked up from the text he was reading.

"Can I ask you to do me a favour?"

"What?" Bobby asked suspiciously. From the tone of her voice, he knew she was going to ask for a doozy.

"If it didn't work, I want you to shoot me!"

There was a shocked silence into which Bobby shook his head, words failing him completely.

"I don't want to become a monster, Bobby. I don't want to hurt anyone. Please Bobby, there's no one else I can ask."

Bobby pushed back the heavy chair and stood. "Emily, what you're asking me to do is … I can't!" his eyes clouded over. The last time he'd been this distressed was when he'd had to shoot his possessed wife. He walked over to the bay window and stared unseeingly outside.

"I know it's hard." Emily stood up too and walked to stand beside him.

Bobby whirled around to look at her, his eyes blazing. "Hard? Hard? Try impossible!"

"It'll destroy them, if one of them has to do it." Emily ground out, speaking of her brothers and John. Why was Bobby being selfish all of a sudden?

Bobby didn't say anything. His eyes searched her face briefly, then they softened. He patted her on the back, then turned and walked out of the room.

"Screw it!" Emily punched the wall. She strode out of the room, leaving her cup and plate on Bobby's desk. She went outside, located Newton, strung the effigy up and proceeded to kick and punch it with as much power and rage as she could release.

Sam's night had been a long one, full of nameless fears and worries, but it was the light filtering in from the parting between the curtains that made him give up sleeping as a bad job. He got up carefully, and sidestepped past Dean who had once again slept on a mattress on the floor. He closed the parting in the curtain, grabbed his clothes and left the room. He looked longingly at Emily's room door. He would have loved to check on his sister, but Missouri was in there too and it was best to give the woman her privacy. With a sigh he padded to the bathroom, did a couple of stretches, cleaned up, dressed and headed downstairs.

Bobby was crossing into the study from the kitchen where he had gone to get a second cup of coffee, and get away from Emily. Lost in thought, he didn't hear and hence didn't acknowledge Sam's greeting.

Sam frowned in shock. While Bobby was a naturally gruff man, who some people found churlish, he was never uncivil. Well, unless you were John Winchester or a big bad. Bobby was also unflappable; his life experiences had shaped him that way. So Sam figured whatever had upset the man was big. He wasn't touching this one, no matter how long a pole he was given. Bobby was extremely acerbic when upset and even though he was good at getting others to talk about their issues, he would never talk about his. And God save anyone who tried to get him to. Sam continued into the kitchen.

While sipping his coffee and waiting for his toast to pop, he absently glanced out of the window, and did a double take. There was Emily kicking and punching the stuffing out of Newton. She was definitely not doing her drills, because there was no skill apparent in what she was doing; she was just laying into the effigy with everything. His heart skipped in joy at seeing his sister so alive after being out of it for days. However, it was evident that like Bobby, she was upset. Sam wondered what could have gotten the two of them this worked up, so early in the morning.

He debated briefly about leaving her alone or going over to talk it out with her. He chose the latter since of everyone in the house, he was the one most suited for a heart to heart with her. Dean and John were awkward when it came to expressing their emotions with words, though Dean could and would step up to the task if it was really necessary. Bobby was a great listener, and had a way of getting people to talk without prompting, but right now, he was not an option because it was apparent he and Emily had already tried talking, and were both upset as a result. Missouri was the next best option, since she and Emily had had that emotional moment the day Emily had come home from the hospital, but Emily could be reticent with strangers, and Missouri despite all she'd done for them was still more or less a stranger. So it was up to him. He took a bite out of his toast, had a huge gulp of his coffee and walked out.

"Hey!" he greeted cautiously.

Emily did not acknowledge him, just kept punishing Newton. Sam sighed in consternation. He was going to have to force the issue. He stepped behind her and threw his arms around her, stilling her arms if not her feet. "Let me go!" she yelled, struggling against him, enraged at his unbreakable hold on her.

"Hey! Stop it, Rae! What the hell is going on with you?"

As if he didn't fucking know! She struggled some more, then suddenly began shaking. For a horrified second he thought she was having another seizure, then he realised she was shaking with sobs.

"I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Hey," Sam shook her slightly, worried about hurting her, but needing to get to her. "Cut back on the dramatics, okay, and tell me what you're talking about. You're not making any sense."

She took a couple of hitching breaths before speaking. "The cure might not have worked, Sam. My ring still hurts … not like before, but it hurts. I might turn into a monster and hurt one of you, or someone else. I don't want that on my conscience. I'd rather die!"

And suddenly Sam understood why Bobby was so upset. Emily must have asked him to kill her. Sam couldn't believe how for such a sensitive person, Emily could be remarkably thoughtless. To ask that of Bobby while knowing his past, knowing about Karen, was unbelievably heartless. Sam understood that Emily was scared, but that didn't give her the right to hurt someone else, to be selfish, and think about herself only. He span her round roughly and gripping her shoulders, he spoke, his voice shaking with a myriad of emotions; fear, worry, anger, love.

"Damn it Emily! I thought you were better than this! When the hell did you crash this selfish pity party? We've all spent the last week worried that you were dying and the first thing you do when you wake up is to ask Bobby to kill you? A man who has to live every single day of his life with the fact that he shot his wife?" Sam shook his head in disappointment. "Jesus, I can't believe you! You say you don't want to hurt anyone … well, guess what, it's too late, you hurt him, Emily! You want your conscience clear, but you'd damn Bobby's with your death? How can you be so inconsiderate? So cold? And what about us, huh? Me and Dean? Did you stop to think how we'd feel? What that would do to our ties with Bobby? And dad … he, he'd …" he trailed off and took shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself.

In the face of the emotions burning in her brother's expressive eyes, Emily felt ashamed. Sam was right. She was being selfish. Putting her needs ahead of everyone else's was self-centred, even though she'd thought she was being noble. "I'm sorry!" she bit out, her voice tremulous, with a mixture of shame, fear, tears and a small prick of anger.

"Uurgh!" he let go of her and took a step back.

"I really am."

"Well, it's not me you should be apologising to!" his voice was hard.

"I know." She turned to return to the house.

He took a deep breath to get his emotions under control. When he spoke, his voice was marginally softer. "Rae?"

She turned back.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Really?"

This time she managed a small smile. "I'm stronger than I look."

"And you need to remember that. We'll figure this thing out, okay? We're not gonna give up on you. You shouldn't either. Just don't give up."

"I won't, I promise. Not without a fight!"

"Atta girl!" After a heartbeat, his eyes twinkled at her and he held his arms out wide. She launched herself at him and the two hugged, Sam lifting her off her feet, just because he could. "I'm glad to have you back, Pipsqueak!" he smiled.

"Your stomach is growling, Sasquatch!"

"I didn't get a chance to finish my breakfast. You were beating the stuffing out of Newton and I had to come save him. You were so hopped up, no wonder Rumsfeld stayed away!"

That was when Emily noticed the absence of the dog, who liked to keep her company when she was outside. "I wouldn't have hurt him!" it was partly defensive, partly questioning.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have," Sam lied smoothly and easily, looping an arm round her shoulder and walking her to the house.

Once back inside, Sam grabbed his now cold coffee and toast, mouthed "Good luck!" and retreated to the den.

Emily mouthed thanks and entered the study where Bobby had returned to his recording. "Hey Bobby?" she began timidly.

"What?" he didn't sound particularly inviting, and he didn't look up, but at least he had responded, so Emily that as a positive sign.

"Eerr …" she began.

"You might want to spit it out before I die of old age!" he reached over impatiently and paused the playing tape. The sudden silence was jarring, but Emily decided to soldier on.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. When Bobby didn't say anything, she continued. "I realise what I asked of you was selfish and cruel." Still nothing from the man. "It was stupid, I was … stupid," she'd never liked speaking disparagingly about herself, but this wasn't an ego trip after all. "I'm really, really sorry."

Silence met her words and spread around the room. Finally Emily threw up her hands in defeat and frustration, "Come on! Isn't silent treatment supposed to be a female thing? Aren't you going to say anything?"

"You've seen the idjits I'm surrounded by, right? I've never had any one of them apologise to me before. I had no idea I had to say anything." Bobby finally spoke.

"Well, you have to!" she couldn't help the note of impatience that crept into her voice.

"Okay, what do I say?"

"That you forgive me? For starters?"

Bobby chuckled appreciatively for a moment before speaking. "Of course I forgive you, you knucklehead! You Winchesters are a bunch of stubborn fools, and I'm sure there's no end to the burnt bridges and unburied hatchets you've left behind. If I was to hold on to bad blood, you all wouldn't have a prayer."

Emily had never known words could be equivalent to an eye-roll. The man had a point, though. Her brothers and father were not big on relationships, and in retrospect she wasn't any better, having practically closed the book on her past life without much regret, though every now and then she missed it with a nostalgia that made her simultaneously happy and sad.

"Yeah, we'd be screwed. Thanks Bobby, you're awesome!"

Bobby's answer was a wordless grunt, then without missing a beat, he tapped the play button on his player.

Emily grinned.

John and Dean came down within minutes of each other, and their joy at seeing Emily was priceless. With John, one had to really know the man to realise how happy he was. He clapped Emily on the back and said hey with a small smile before heading to the kitchen. Dean on the other hand was transparent in his happiness. He didn't even need his morning cup of coffee to animate him. With an excited whoop, he grabbed Emily in a bear hug and rocked her side to side.

"Good to see you up, Sleeping Beauty!"

Emily giggled despite herself. "You should talk Rip Van Winkle!"

"That's why I'm the one with the good looks!" Dean laughed and released her. "By the way, you stink!" he added making a face.

"Yeah … I had a go at Newton! I should hit the shower. I just don't want to wake Missouri up. She scary enough without sleep deprivation!"

"If her snoring doesn't wake her up, I doubt anything else can!" Bobby smirked.

"I never understood the expression sawing logs," Dean paused for effect, "then I heard her snoring!" Dean added.

Emily was still chuckling when she got upstairs. She quietly grabbed things from her room and went to the bathroom.

"So, is she okay?" John asked when he was sure Emily was out of earshot.

"Best ask Missouri that." Bobby muttered.

"The two of you have been buddying it up all morning! Didn't you notice anything?" John sounded belligerent and he knew it.

Bobby skewered him with one of those 'are you for real' looks.

"I guess not!" John answered his own question. He supposed it was to be expected. After all, his children were masters at hiding things.

Dean looked from Bobby to John and decided beating a hasty retreat was in his best interests, before the men really got into it. He waved his thumb over his shoulder, and spoke hastily. "Yeah … Umm, I'm gonna go!" he turned away then turned back when he remembered something. "Sam and I will start on the silver bullets after breakfast. Tell Rae where we are when she gets back down. She'll be upset if she misses out."

"The bullets are done." John rapped out.

"You ladies are going to have to entertain yourselves some other way." Bobby added.

"Right!" Dean said feeling surprisingly despondent. Even when it wasn't his intention, their father had a way of making him feel inadequate. Dean wondered whether it was the same with his siblings. It was highly doubtful; while they cared what John thought of them, Sam and Emily's self esteem was not as closely tied to their father's approval as Dean's was. And despite their nonchalance or possibly because of it, John was more attentive to them. Dean couldn't say he was jealous of his siblings, in fact, he was proud of them and insanely protective of them, but John's favouritism did impact his self-esteem negatively. It was the reason he was always second guessing himself. His cockiness and self-assuredness were just good acts. He wondered whether Sam and Emily saw through it. Yeah, they probably did. They were too damn smart and intuitive for their own good. He fixed his breakfast and headed to the den in search of his brother. Needling and getting a rise out of Sam always got him out of his own head.


	24. Chapter 23

As expected, Sam was in the den. He'd long finished his breakfast and was lost in thought.

"Hey, I'm surprised you and Rae weren't braiding each other's hair or something when I came downstairs!" Dean commented when he found Sam in the den.

Sam turned and smiled at his brother, refusing to be wound up. He was glad for Dean's company anyway. "She and Bobby had some stuff to hash out so I left them to it," he shrugged.

"And here I was thinking you were hiding from dad!" Dean grinned knowingly.

"Well, yeah, that too! No matter how we try not to, we somehow end up at each other's throats."

Everything and anything could set Sam and John off. Sam hated the fights but more than that, he hated the fact that it was Dean who was most affected by them. They caused him unbelievable distress. He always worried that the next fight would be the one that tore their family apart forever. Sam smiled as he thought of his brother. Even though Dean certainly thought not, he was the most sensitive of the Winchester men, probably the most sensitive of them all, Emily included. Sam would never tell him that though, because Dean would probably punch him into next week. But it was for him that Sam had hidden out because with everything that was going on, Dean had enough on his plate without adding stupid avoidable fights to it.

"Don't I know it!" Dean rolled his eyes. As the put on, and usually ignored referee, he always got a front seat to those blowups. He bit into his pizza. "I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I'm sick of pizza!" he changed the subject expertly.

Sam laughed and nodded in agreement. With Emily so sick, no one, not even Missouri, had had the time or motivation for making elaborate breakfasts. Or lunches and dinners.

Being a master of timing, Sam waited until Dean had finished his breakfast. "So, ummm, Rae asked Bobby to kill her."

"What?" Dean exploded. "That little … When? Why? What did Bobby say?"

"He was upset of course. And I talked to her already by the way, so don't give her shit about it."

"I … Why …" Dean placed his hands on top of his head, too agitated to articulate himself properly.

"She's scared, Dean. She thinks the potion didn't work."

"Well, it did." Dean spoke with conviction.

Sam shook his head slightly. Dean had a habit of decreeing things as if that would make them true. Denial at its very best. "There's really no way of telling until tonight." Sam spoke gently almost coaxingly.

"I know it worked!" Dean snapped.

"The dog was avoiding her this morning."

"So what?"

"So maybe he senses something."

"You're reading way too much into a dog's behaviour!"

"Look Dean, I hope the potion worked, I really do, but what if it didn't? What then?"

"Listen to me Sammy, the potion worked. End of story."

"Dean, you have to consider the possibility that it didn't!" Sam exclaimed, amazed by his brother's stubborn blindness.

"Why? Why do I have to consider it?" Dean's voice was furious. The fear, panic and worry he was feeling manifesting as raging anger.

"Because of the consequences." Sam answered softly. Even though he'd lectured her stringently, he'd known there was truth to Emily's fears. If she turned, she would have to be put down before she hurt or killed someone. But which one of them would do it? How would they live with themselves after that?

Dean had already considered that, hence his tumultuous state of mind. He knew that if it came down to the line he would have to be the one to take the shot. It was his duty, his mission to watch out for his siblings and that included saving Emily from damnation even if it meant killing her, and it meant sparing Sam from the psychological fallout of having to kill their sister. Yes, Dean was more than aware of the consequences if the potion failed and he really didn't need reminding. He was willing to pretend everything was fine until he couldn't pretend anymore.

"Dean?"

"Drop it, Sammy!" Dean spat warningly.

"Fine!" Sam snapped. The last thing he needed was to start a fight with his brother.

As she showered, Emily pondered about her reaction to Bobby's refusal of her request and Sam's intervention. While she was known to fly off the handle sometimes, her anger this time had really been uncharacteristically intense! She remembered hitting Newton, the effigy, with a ferocity that had honestly scared her. And the blind white hot rage she'd felt at Sam's interruption had been alarming. For a moment, she'd wanted to rip his face off! If he'd not held her the way he had, pinning her arms behind her and rendering her immobile, she might have taken a swing at him.

The anger had left her as suddenly as it had come upon her, leaving her shaking and sobbing with remorse and fear at what she was at a risk of becoming. Sam, bless his heart, had tried to comfort her, his kindness making her feel terrible, and then when he'd figured out what she'd said to Bobby, he'd told her off for her self-centredness, and made her feel even worse. He'd gotten her to see Bobby's point of view and her subsequent apology to the man had been genuine and heartfelt. Bobby's humorous, nonchalant acceptance of the apology made her feel like a monster for what she'd asked of him.

She stepped out of the shower and stared intently at her reflection in the mirror. She still looked like herself, she still looked human. She felt human too, and her conscience was obviously still intact, as evidenced by the request she'd made of Bobby, and the fact that even though she'd felt great animosity towards Sam earlier, at no point had she wanted to sink her teeth into him and tear him to pieces. So yes, she was still human and still had a working conscience. But there was no denying that there was something angry and evil inside her, something that was trying to take control. Something that wanted to hurt others.

She feared hurting her family probably more than she feared death. And that was saying something because like any normal person, she feared dying. She was faced with a dilemma, and try as she might, she couldn't figure out what to do. Her family wouldn't kill her, at least not until she gave them reason to, and she feared that by that point, she might have already hurt someone. Besides, she didn't want to die as a monster. The only other option was killing herself, but that was out of the question. Not only was suicide a one way ticket to hell, but it would also completely negate the deaths of her parents, her biological mother and grandfather. And, she'd just end up becoming a demon and hurting even more people. No matter how she looked at things, she was screwed.

She sighed heavily, dressed slowly, and got out of the bathroom with a troubled look on her face, only to find Missouri hovering outside. She startled but recovered quickly. "Good morning," she greeted the woman, injecting as much politeness as she could muster into her words. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, honey, not at all. How're you feeling?" Missouri asked in reply. Emily opened her mouth to answer and Missouri interrupted. "The truth now, and none of that I'm fine evasive nonsense all you Winchesters are good at delivering!"

Emily's mouth fell open at the woman's scary insight. 'I'm fine' had indeed been her intended answer. As she reconsidered what she was going to say, she clenched and unclenched her fist a couple of times. "Umm, I don't know … well, just days ago my ring was burning like …"

Missouri raised an eyebrow in warning and Emily almost smiled. No matter how she tried, she could never swear under normal circumstances; the words just couldn't slip past the sieve of her conscious brain, but apparently Missouri didn't know that. Between being drugged in the hospital and getting drunk so the fixator could be removed, Emily was sure she'd blistered everyone's ears with her language so she could understand Missouri's misgivings.

"… the dickens, but now it feels more like a … a scald. So I guess your potion worked … to an extent," she finished tactfully.

"Mmm, the notes suggested this might happen; not all of the venom would be removed." Missouri said in a speculative tone.

"So, does that mean I'm still going to turn?" Emily asked, afraid of hearing the answer out loud even though she'd already put two and two together and figured it out.

"No it doesn't!" Missouri answered.

"What?" Emily perked up in pleased surprise. She'd thought her turning into a monster was a foregone conclusion.

"It's going to come down to you."

"Uh? How?"

"Have you heard that Cherokee legend about wolves?"

"The one that basically says we've all got a good wolf and a bad wolf inside us, and the wolf we feed is the one that wins?" Emily answered slowly. "Yeah, I have. What has that got to do with this?"

"Everything, dear child. You've got a lot of stubborn in you, too much if you ask me, and there's just a little of the venom left. So when the time comes or the urge or whatever it is, you fight it. You hear me? You fight it with everything you've got!"

"But how?" Emily needed specifics. Missouri made it sound so easy.

"Well, you think of those brothers of yours, and your daddy, and Bobby and everyone else you care about. You think of how they would feel if they lost you. How shattered they would be if they were forced to put you down. You keep them in your mind and your heart, and then you hold on to your humanity for them!"

Well, okay, so maybe it was easy, if force of positive emotion was all it would take. It was cliché, but she felt like a weight had been lifted. "I will!" she swore.

"Of course you will. Now scoot, so I can get a start on my day."

With a new bounce in her step, Emily went downstairs and sought out her brothers.

"Hey guys!" she greeted peppily on finding them in the den.

"Hi!" they both replied turning round to smile at her.

She frowned. Their voices were forcefully happy, the smiles too wide and fake. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing!" both said automatically.

Emily wondered why she even bothered asking. She glowered at them. "Fine then, don't tell me! See if I care!" she grumbled.

Her voice which was anything but indifferent made the brothers grin, genuinely this time.

"Hey, how about that pool lesson I promised you." Dean laughed at the scowl on Emily's face.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Wanna go?"

"Now?"

"No, after the second coming! Of course now!"

"What about the silver bullets? Dad would expect us to get on that." Sam cut in.

"He got that covered last night."

"What? By himself?"

"Apparently."

"Whoa!"

"I'll go get my boots on!" Emily raced off before Dean could change his mind. She eagerly thundered up the stairs.

"Something had better be chasing you up those stairs!" Missouri bellowed.

Emily rolled her eyes but immediately slowed down. Downstairs, Dean mouthed 'tyrant!'.

"Do that again Emily Avis-Raines and your face will freeze that way! As for you, Dean Winchester, don't think you're too grown for a whooping!"

Both Dean and Emily looked around them, searching to see if Missouri was hiding somewhere watching them. She wasn't.

In the study John and Bobby chuckled.

Sam tried unsuccessfully to hold back a smile at the floored look on Dean's face. "You'd better go tell dad we're heading out!" he pointed out after a moment. For someone who withheld information as naturally as he breathed, their father was seriously OTT about knowing their whereabouts. Sam had always found it a tad hypocritical.

"You go tell him." Dean shot back.

"No way!"

"Best of three?"

Dean lost all three rock-paper-scissors games. "Damn it!" he grumbled as he headed to the study to report to John, while a grinning Sam headed outside.

John took the information in stride. "Be back before sundown," was all he said. That would give them more than enough time to return and prepare for the hunt.

Dean though surprised by his father's easy acquiesce, didn't show it. "Yessir!" he hurried out of the room just in case John reconsidered.

Emily met her brothers outside standing next to the impala. "Hey, do you mind if we take my car?"

"Yeah, why not? I suppose my baby could do with a break!" Dean shrugged.

As expected, he still insisted on driving. Emily didn't mind. She just wanted to enjoy her car for what might be the last time. Of course she didn't say that to her brothers. They'd freak out, and probably tell her off for her attitude. They wouldn't understand that she wasn't being defeatist or pessimistic, she was just an avid believer and practiser of scenario analysis. When they returned home later, she planned to finish the letters she'd started before the potion made her sick. If she didn't die tonight, and she fervently hoped she didn't, then the letters wouldn't be necessary, but it never hurt to prepare for all possible outcomes.


	25. Chapter 24

Sam smiled when twenty minutes or so later, Dean drove into the empty parking lot of a bar. Even without the shadows and the rather unsavoury crowd that would descend on it in the evening, the place looked like the dive it was, but it was here that Dean had taught Sam how to play pool. Sam had been the impressionable age of thirteen, Dean had been seventeen, and already a notorious pool hustler. During the day, the place was quiet, and the owners, a married couple, were extremely nice, and didn't object to a couple of boys coming in to use the tables, sometimes even letting them play for free, but in the evening, there were two huge, surly bouncers who were a necessary addition due to the fights that inevitably broke out in the place.

"Charming!" Emily looked the place over disparagingly.

"Don't knock it. The tables in this place are well kept. And the jukebox is to die for!" Dean playfully cuffed her on the head, and she growled in semi mock protest.

They entered in the usual order, Dean first, Sam last, Emily sandwiched between them.

A middle aged woman sat in the back wiping glasses. The man behind the bar was taking inventory of his drinks. Both looked up at the new arrivals, their faces quickly becoming wary as they took in the trio. The man's hand slowly strayed below the counter. "We don't keep no money on the premises!" he warned.

"We don't want any trouble," Dean spoke evenly, watching the man's hand with narrowed eyes. He knew the man was reaching for a shotgun. Every self respecting bar owner in these neck of the world kept one on hand.

Sam could understand the man's suspicion. At first sight, the three of them were intimidating; Sam because of his sheer size, Dean because he carried himself with that easy cocky self assuredness that suggested he could take on a hundred men and win, and Emily by proxy to them.

"We just want to use one of your pool tables. We'll pay for the games, okay?" Sam placated the man, puppy eyes out in full force.

"They're gonna teach me how to play! About damn time too!" Emily beamed. She had learnt to use her smile the way Sam used his puppy eyes.

Her huge, open smile and Sam's soft eyes put the man at ease.

"I won't serve any of youse any liquor. Third table is the best." The man stopped reaching for his gun, and relaxed, but only marginally.

None of the siblings objected. It was too early to be drinking and it wasn't what they'd come for anyway.

"Obviously the management has changed!" Dean commented as they walked to the tables. He kept a wary look on the man.

Sam grabbed the triangle and began to set up the table. "So, pool is basically math. It's about angles, speed and projectiles,"

"Yeah, well, it's also about you; your eyes, how you position the cue and how you hold your body." Dean interjected as he selected the cue sticks.

"It's about good decisions."

"It's about good aim."

"Skill."

"Confidence."

"Like shooting?" Emily cut in quickly, before the brothers could turn it into a pissing contest.

"Eeer!" Sam began.

"Kinda!" Dean shrugged.

"Awesome. Well, can we start now?" she said a little peevishly.

"I'll break!" Dean smiled, picked up his cue, exaggeratedly examined the tip, and chalked it. Then he got into position and took the break shot. The next half hour went quickly with explanations, and demonstrations from both brothers, and banter from all three. Then Dean set Emily up against Sam while he went to check out the jukebox.

"What is it? Cancer?" the woman who had been polishing glasses spoke when Dean was close enough.

Wondering whether she was talking to him, he turned to her curiously. He frowned in surprise and confusion when he realised she was. "What is what cancer?"

The woman looked thoughtfully at Sam and Emily before speaking. "She's dying, isn't she?"

Dean stiffened when he noticed she was looking at his siblings. "Why the hell would you say that?" his frown gave way to a dangerous scowl.

As if sensing their brother's distress, Sam and Emily paused their game and looked his way.

"I'm sorry!" the woman held up her hands. "I just thought … well, the way you and the other guy look at her, I just thought she was you know … dying or something."

"She's not …" Dean broke off and reconsidered his words. He did not want to tempt fate with one of those statements, especially now. "We're waiting on the results of ummm … a test."

"Oh. I hope you get good news." The empathy in the woman's voice sounded genuine.

Now Dean felt like a heel. He sighed deeply. "Thank you." He made a random selection on the jukebox so he could get away quickly from the woman. He waved awkwardly at her and raced back to his siblings.

"You were in an awful hurry to get away from there, uh!" Sam snickered.

"What makes you think that?" Dean said defensively.

"Well, since when do you willingly select Morrissey?" Sam's grin was huge.

"Maybe that's all the box had! Doesn't matter anyway. Pack it in, let's go!"

"But I'm winning!" Emily exclaimed. She had a rather unhealthy competitive streak that made her loathe to leave any contest however small, especially when she was winning.

"By only one shot, Ruth McGinnis!" Sam pointed out, quickly remedying that by sinking his next two shots. "And not anymore!" he crowed as he prepared for a third.

"It's not a tournament, you idiots!" Dean barked. "I don't like the way she's looking at us." he added. That was technically a lie as it was the way the woman had analysed them that had made him wary.

Both Sam and Emily turned and unabashedly stared at the woman. Dean was right. She was indeed looking at them, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, and a sad smile on her face, like she was looking at them but not really seeing them.

"She looks harmless!" Emily commented mildly.

"So does jellyfish! Now, let's go." Dean stalked to the exit. His siblings had no choice but to abandon their game and follow him, both glowering heavily.

"Come on Dean, so maybe you're right and she was looking at us funny, but since this might be our last …" Emily broke off in the middle of her rant when both her brothers stiffened. "Never mind," she mumbled and climbed into the back of the car.

The unnecessary force with which he banged his car door was evidence of just how upset Dean was. The Metallica tape he chose to play was proof of his distress. Sam and Emily practically held their breaths for the twenty minute drive, not even daring to ask where they were going even when it became apparent they were not headed back to the yard.

"Hey, I used to work here!" surprise loosened Emily's tongue when Dean pulled up to a diner in Brandon.

"What? When?" Sam frowned.

Emily scooted forward, "Back when I was looking for John. Bobby used to come in, and when I'd get off, we'd hang out and talk."

Well, that certainly explained how the relationship between Bobby and Emily had grown to the point he and Dean had found it. "No wonder you two were buddy-buddy!"

"Bobby's nice," she smiled, "and he's interesting and knows a lot of stuff and I like knowing stuff."

"You two stay here, I'll get the food!" Dean ordered. After meeting Becky and Zach Warren in St. Louis for the shapeshifter case, Dean didn't like running into people his siblings had known away from him. Though Becky and Zach had been nice people, Dean hadn't been quite comfortable with them. It hadn't helped that the Sam they knew was world's away from the Sam he knew, and he had felt disjointed and disconnected during that whole hunt. Also, meeting them had made him feel guilty for having dragged Sam away from college and back into the family business. And he knew it had been just as awkward for Sam, even though he had pretended otherwise. So Dean didn't want a repeat, unless it was completely unavoidable. Also, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was a tad possessive of his siblings.

"I'll have …" Emily began.

"I'm not taking requests! You'll eat what I get." Dean growled and slammed the door shut.

"Jesus, he's testy!" Emily settled back.

"That's because he's worried, and scared," Sam explained softly, his eyes on his brother's retreating form.

"I know," Emily spoke just as softly. She also knew that his turmoil was her fault. She watched him walk away, and it suddenly sparked a memory, that pulled her out of her temporary melancholy. "Wait! It was you guys, wasn't it?" she cried, almost bouncing on the seat.

"It was us who did what?" Sam frowned at the weird change in topic.

"I can't believe it! On my very first day here, I think I saw you, well the back of your heads! The two of you were leaving the diner as I started my shift. I remember you left behind a newspaper with an obit circled. Umm, a swimming accident victim …Sophie something."

Sam scrunched his forehead as he thought back. "Carlton! Sophie Carlton! Whoa! Yeah, it was us! Imagine that!"

"Kismet!"

"Well, that doesn't quite qualify as kismet!" Sam corrected, turning his long frame to peer at his sister over the car seat. "We didn't even meet until much later!"

"You're so technical! I mean, think about it, if you'd stayed a couple of minutes more, we would have met. It would have been kismet! Hehe, I bet Dean loved Wendy!"

"The one with the boobs, right? I believe he described her as fun!"

"Definitely not how I would have described her!" Emily snorted uncharitably, remembering the duty shirking waitress. "So, was it?"

"Was it what?" Sam was sure Emily was trying to give him brain whiplash.

"Your kind of case?"

"Oh! Yeah. It was a water spirit."

"Is that like a ghost that lives in water? How did you get rid of it?"

"We didn't."

"What?"

"A man sacrificed himself to appease it. There was nothing we could do." Sam's voice was low.

That was the kind of statement that was normally followed by a guilt trip of epic proportions by either one of her brothers, so Emily scrambled for a change of topic, but her usually quick firing brain was frozen. She instead settled for a feeble placation. "I'm sure you did all you could." Even she could hear how lame that sounded, but to her great surprise, Sam agreed.

"Yes, we did. You just have to convince Dean of that."

Emily almost found it funny that Sam was saying that about Dean as if Sam himself did not have the exact same flaw of unnecessary self-blame! She supposed it was a case of being unable to see the speck in one's own eyes.

Dean returned balancing five takeout containers. Sam got out to help even though Dean was waving him away.

"You can start eating if you want," he waved at the containers in Sam's lap.

"We can wait."

Another twenty minutes of driving got them to Dell Rapids. Another ten got them to a spot by the river that would have been completely theirs if not for a young couple a few metres away.

"Bet they thought they were the only ones who knew about this place!" Sam snickered when the pair glared in their direction. "They've obviously watched too many romance movies!"

"We ruined their moment!" Emily sang gleefully. She stepped out of the car and waved happily at the couple. They turned away and migrated further down the river. She laughed.

"Hey, don't be mean!" Sam admonished even though there was a slight smile in his voice.

Emily said an automatic, almost contrite 'sorry' as she spun around slowly taking in her surroundings. "This is beautiful," she finally whispered in awe. "How did you guys find it? I thought you hated nature!"

"We hate camping, not nature, there's a huge difference! Dad brought us here once." Sam answered looking discreetly at his brother. He wondered whether Dean remembered that day. They'd been six and ten respectively, and Sam hadn't yet cottoned on to what his father really did. They'd fished without permits, and hadn't been caught, but neither had they caught anything. Dean had teased Sam saying his endless chatter had chased away the fish. Sam had insisted that Dean had touched the bait with his stinky hands. John had assured them that they were both to blame because they were impatient and couldn't stay still. So instead of the promised smoked fish, they'd had sandwiches for lunch and a chocolate bar each for desert, which was unprecedented.

After the meal, John had watched with an unreadable look on his face as his sons had played with the intensity and imagination that is unique to children. Of course Sam had later learnt that for Dean, slaying monsters was not a pretend game with sticks for swords, but a terrifying reality with shotguns filled with salt. When they'd tired out, they'd flopped onto the ground next to their father, and to their disbelief and utter delight, John had told them about the first and only time he and his father had gone fishing. The disastrous event made for a hilarious story, and the two boys had laughed till they'd cried, and John had pretended to be affronted by their amusement. The story had also made them curious about their grandfather, a man they'd heard nothing about till then, but John had suddenly clammed up. Sam, who even as a child was doggedly persistent, had been ready to hound his father until he got answers, but Dean with just a slight head shake had made him reconsider. Dean had always been an insightful liaison between his brother and father, a gift which both Sam and John usually took for granted.

Not long after that, they'd packed up and left. They hadn't been back here until now. Sam was willing to bet that John hadn't visited in the last sixteen years either.

Emily knew this place was special to her brothers, and not just because it was beautiful. She turned back to them, "Thanks for bringing me," she spoke with reverent gratitude.

"Cola or water?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Uh?" she looked at Sam. He shrugged. She turned back to Dean and took the water.

They ate in silence, enjoying the breeze off the river, and the warmth of the sun, while the shelter of the tree branches kept the direct glare from them.

"So what did you and John do when you came out here?" Emily's words were slightly slurred. The silence had stretched on long after the food was gone, and the quietude and contentedness was making her sleepy.

"Nothing … well, we fished." Sam answered, his voice just as sleepy sounding.

"Really?" Emily sat up in her surprise.

Sam laughed heartily. "I know, it's hard to believe those two could stay still long enough to fish!"

"Please!" Emily snorted, "You don't have the right disposition for fishing either!"

"Well, none of us caught anything" he confessed with a sheepish grin.

"Now that I believe!" she laughed.

"Think you'd do any better, smart ass?"

"As a matter of fact …" she stopped for effect, "no! But me and my dad always took home a fish each time we went fishing. Only we bought them at the fish market. I have a feeling mom knew. We never could successfully pull one over her! She …" Emily broke off suddenly, turning anxious eyes onto her brothers. For their sakes, she always strived to stay away from the topic of her parents, especially her mother.

"You can fool some of the people all of the time, all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool Mom!" Sam smiled. "You can talk about her, you know," he added gently.

"But …"

"We don't mind," he interrupted. In fact, Sam loved hearing about his mother and Emily's, but unfortunately his siblings rarely talked about either woman. Mary was an enigma, her absence and nature of death making her more of a legend and a martyr than anything else to Sam, who having no real memory of her, relied on his brother's memories which were rose coloured because Dean had only been four years old. On the other hand, Laura though not his mother, felt more real. Of course when Emily talked about her parents, rare as that was, she tended to speak of the positives more. Still, she spoke enough of the mundane and the not so good, to make them real people. They both sounded like they'd been wonderful, but Laura particularly fascinated him.

"Your mother was awesome, your father was oh so wonderful! We get it, okay? No need to rub it in our faces!" Dean growled.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Emily, and Sam barked Dean's name in a shocked reprimand.

Emily turned to Dean, tears of hurt and anger gleaming in her eyes. "I would never do such a thing and you know it!" her voice shook with emotion.

Dean felt contrite at the pain he'd caused his sister, but he was so angry, he couldn't stop lashing out. "Then stop talking about them every freakin' second!" he snapped.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Nothing!" he yelled.

"Whatever I did to piss you off, I'm sorry, okay?" she spat out.

"I'm not angry with you!" he replied, but there was still a hard edge to his voice and his face looked like storm clouds.

"But you've been acting like a porcupine, all puffed up and bristly, and you're making this whole day impossible when it should be fun!"

Puffed up and bristly like a porcupine? Now that was an image! Sam struggled to hold in his laughter because the last thing he needed was for his currently emotionally overwrought siblings to turn on him.

Dean took a couple of deep calming breaths before turning to face Emily. "Yes! Yes I'm pissed, god damn it, but not at you! Okay? See, I'd finally managed to convince myself that things would be fine, then that woman at the bar asked me if you were dying!"

"Oh!" Both Sam and Emily exclaimed in understanding. No wonder Dean's emotions had taken a nosedive after talking to the woman.

"She thought you have cancer!" Dean continued, laughing bitterly, "Cancer! Can you believe that? And you know what's worse? I almost wish you had cancer, because at least then I wouldn't be thinking about whether I'll have to shoot you tonight or not!"

"Dean, you don't …" Sam began.

"I'm sorry," Emily interrupted Sam with a whisper. There was no need for any of them to pretend that Dean's fears weren't founded.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? It's not your fault! It's mine! I should have looked out for you. It's my duty to watch over you and I failed!"

"I'm a big girl, Dean. I'm responsible for myself."

"You may be eighteen, but you've been hunting less than a year. That makes you more or less a baby! I should never have let you into this life."

Now was not the time to rage about being called a baby, even though she really wanted to. "Look, Dean, when that reaver got inside me and made me slit my wrists, I got sucked into this life. You had absolutely no control over that, and it wasn't your fault anymore than the verumnat attack was. I don't blame you, or Sam or even myself. We were at the yard, during our downtime, there wasn't a full moon, and we were ambushed." She looked at him and then at Sam and smiled slightly, " We still kicked ass though!"

"And took names!" Sam added.

"And right now, in this very moment, we're all here, and we're fine. None of us knows what will happen tonight. But at least we've got this time, and we should make the most out of it, and be thankful for it. Being angry at ourselves or God, or whatever, is only ruining what might possibly be our last time together, and frankly that blows!"

Silence met her words. She sighed after a moment. "I love you guys, and I really couldn't have asked for better brothers." She stood up and walked to sit by the water edge, and began throwing stones in.

"You know, I never, ever asked for a sister, but I'm glad I got one anyway!" Sam sat by her side and gave her a one armed hug.

"God, the cheese that oozed off that line is giving me heartburn!" Dean teased his brother. He sat on the other side of Emily and gave her a slight shoulder bump. "But Sam's right, you're an awesome sister."

Emily smiled.

"Now, please, let us teach you the art of stone skipping because you absolutely suck!"

Emily laughed. "What makes you think I don't just want to chuck the stones into the water?"

"Come on, no one wants to do something that lame!" Dean laughed.

"It's simply a matter of angles," Sam began.

"And how you flick your wrist." Dean added.

"Guys, just show me!" Emily cut in before they got carried away with the instructions again.

She didn't quite get the hang of it, but it was good fun. The brothers finally gave up the lesson and the three siblings sat in rare silence, which was subsequently broken when Dean farted.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed with a grunted laugh. "This is why I don't take you anywhere!"

"Sweet Pythagoras, that is rank!" Emily held her nose.

"Thank you!" Dean smirked wiggling his eyebrows.

Both Emily and Sam punched him. It turned into an impromptu sparring match that left them sweaty, and dirty, but breathless with laughter. They snacked on chips and M&Ms, then lay back and cloud watched, talking inconsequentially about a scattering of topics, but mostly just enjoying each other's company. They did not notice the time until Emily suddenly popped up.

"We've got to go!" she spoke urgently.

"What's the rush?" Dean spoke languidly.

Emily turned to glare at him, and for a split moment, her eyes glowed like the raging sunset they'd been admiring earlier.

"Shit! Dad is going to kill me!" Dean thought as he sprang up.

Sam was close behind him.


	26. Chapter 25

An hour after the siblings left the yard, another vehicle pulled in. The Yugo GV was unremarkable in every way, making it the perfect car for a small town pastor who also happened to be a semi retired hunter. John accosted Jim before the car was properly parked.

"Did you bring it?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise." Jim reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed a duffel and a large messenger bag that contained his religious paraphernalia. He handed both bags to John before opening the back seat door where he jiggled the seat up to reveal the hidden compartment from which he retrieved his weapons' bag and a long chain with shackles.

"Made by the knight templar Thomas Felix."

"Really?" John raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Jim gave him the side eye before continuing. "The silver came from religious artefacts, melted in an Easter vigil fire in which chrism and catechumen oil were added. Once finished, the chain was cooled in holy water."

"Allegedly!"

"I prefer to believe the stories."

"You've always had more faith than I have."

They trudged into the house where the pastor was greeted warmly by Missouri and Bobby. Then the men headed to the panic room were they affixed the chain to rings fixed in the wall. Being skilled hunters, they were sure that between them and John's sons, hunting down a solo werewolf was going to be a walk in the park. Thus, stopping Victoria was secondary to protecting Emily and keeping her human. The day Missouri, John and Bobby had visited the pastor, she'd told them that if Emily didn't draw blood on the first night of the full moon, then the last of the curse would be lifted. John had been tasked with telling his children, but between Emily's sickness and her brothers' angst, he hadn't been able to. Fortunately he'd told them to be home before sundown, so he wasn't worried.

A cautious scouting visit to the cabin revealed it was empty. Of course that would have been too easy. The men then spent the rest of the day preparing for the evening.

* * *

><p>Victoria wasn't stupid; she was reckless and impetuous, but not stupid. She knew better than to attack without backup, but now, with her family wiped out, she had no one to call upon. So she had to create her own reinforcements. Golems were the perfect answer to her needs, but after trying to make one and having the mud either too gooey to stick together or too dry that it cracked before she made a model, she gave up in frustration. The solution to that problem came from the unlikeliest of places, at least for her — a church. She'd been driving past a catholic one when she'd seen a statue of Mary in a grotto. The sculpture had given her an idea, and she'd asked the first person she'd seen for directions to the local cemetery. As she'd driven to the cemetery, she'd kept her fingers crossed, hoping that even small town folk had the propensity to grand gestures. She'd not been disappointed because the very first grave she'd found had a large marble angel standing guard next to the headstone. There were not as many statues as she would have found in a larger graveyard, but it was better than nothing. She cut open her palm with a pocket knife, drawing blood. She let a couple of blood drops fall onto the statue and said an incantation; the language was foreign to her, but the pronunciation was perfect because of all the practice. She repeated the process over another six statues. As she worked, she wished she had had the foresight to give her sons the same backup. Their deaths were as much her fault as they were John's and his children. So she didn't mind if she died tonight, which was likely, as long as she avenged her sons and her husband before her death. She waited for evening.<p>

* * *

><p>On the drive back to the yard, the brothers made Emily sit up front squashed between them on the bucket seat. They didn't want her alone and unsupervised in the back seat. What if she attacked them or took a flying leap out of the car? The gleam in her eyes earlier had made her seem almost mad.<p>

Emily didn't do anything unusual. She leaned into Sam, and hummed along cheerfully to the music playing, and the brothers began to wonder whether they'd imagined the glow in her eyes. They got home without incident.

The brothers sighed with relief, but it was short lived. They entered the house through the kitchen and of course Dean stopped to check the fridge, and Sam stopped to tease Dean for being a bottomless pit. Emily walked into the study calling happily for Bobby.

"Hey Bobby, you're never goi …" she broke off suddenly and began growling.

The inhuman sound and a mad scraping of chairs made the brothers drop everything and run into the study. The scene made them skid to a stunned stop.

Pastor Jim was holding a gun right at Emily, his eyes unblinking and alert, his arm unwavering. Emily was crouched low, her body coiled as if readying to spring. Her eyes were glowing unnaturally like they had before, but it was the expression on her face that was most disturbing. It was dark and twisted. It was an expression none of them would have ever imagined seeing on Emily's face. It matched the menacing snarls coming from her.

For a moment, everyone else was frozen, their eyes wide in disbelieving horror at the standoff. Then as if a switch had been thrown, they leapt into action.

John and Sam got to the pair first.

"Don't point that thing at my daughter!" John snapped at Pastor Jim, his voice a threat worse than what the pastor was facing.

At the same time, Sam reached out and touched Emily's shoulder tentatively. "Emily?"

Barely taking her eyes off Pastor Jim, Emily shoved Sam viciously. He smacked into a shelf and fell onto the ground, together with a bundle of books. He blinked sluggishly, more in shock than anything else.

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed. He vacillated, torn between checking on his brother or restraining his sister.

"I'm fine, just winded! Get her!" Sam made the decision for Dean.

Dean was not about to make the same mistake as Sam, and treat Emily like a rational being. Instead, he rushed forward and tackled her. They both went down hard, Emily's head smacking onto the floor. She went completely still, and for a second Dean was worried he'd hurt her seriously or even killed her. But she began squirming and bucking, fighting her hardest to get loose, and he almost smiled with relief. He shifted so he could dig his knee into her back, and he grabbed her arms and held them behind her back, hoping her thrashing didn't lead to dislocated shoulders.

"That's not your daughter, John," Jim said softly but he finally lowered his gun, now that Dean had his sister secured, at least for the moment.

"She's in there!" John retorted, finally able to move away from Jim who no longer posed an immediate threat to his children. He glanced at Dean, and once he was sure his eldest wasn't in urgent need of assistance, he crouched down next to Sam who was struggling to his knees. "You okay?" he asked grabbing Sam's head between his hands.

"I'm fine!" Sam tried to pull away, but John held him fast and checked his pupils.

"Yeah, you're golden!" John let go.

Sam scrambled to his siblings. "Rae?" He drew Emily's hair away so he could look at her face. There was no recognition in her still glowing eyes, just unbelievable hatred. It took his breath away.

Dean looked sharply at Sam when he heard him gasp. "You sure you're okay?"

Sam sat back on his haunches. "Yeah. It's just … she was okay, she was herself. What happened?" he sounded shellshocked.

Dean didn't blame him. He too couldn't understand how Emily had gone from a smiling kid to this snarling animal in seconds. He looked at his father for answers.

"We've got to get her to the panic room." John ordered, trying his hardest not to look at his son. He knew what had happened wasn't Dean's fault at all, but John couldn't help feeling like it was. It was unfair and John didn't want Dean picking up on it.

He wasn't quite successful at hiding because Dean still saw the accusatory look in his father's eyes, and it cut him.

Between the four of them they got Emily to the panic room, though she fought them every step of the way.

Bobby who was in the room making sure there was nothing inside that was harmful or valuable stepped aside in disbelief. "What the hell happened?"

"We don't know! She just went apeshit!" Dean answered.

The brothers and their father held fast onto Emily as Bobby and Jim placed the shackles round her wrists and ankles. Then all the men side stepped quickly and raced outside, banging the heavy door shut behind them.

Sam turned to look inside through the slot. "She can't be changing. Missouri said there's not much venom left in her after the potion. Besides, it's too early. According to the phase calendar, the moon doesn't rise until 1:36 a.m."

"Of course you checked the phase calendar! Could you be a bigger dork!" Dean tried to lighten the atmosphere. It didn't work.

"Get Missouri. Maybe she can explain what happened." Pastor Jim suggested.

"Umm, maybe I should stay down here. Keep an eye on her." Sam edged.

"She's going nowhere, Sam. We all need to know what's going on, and we need to discuss how we're gonna handle the hunt." John vetoed him.

A look from Dean kept Sam from arguing.

Missouri had no idea what had happened. She could only speculate that maybe Pastor Jim's presence had upset the beast within Emily. After all, he was the only religious member of the group, and the newest addition to the yard. Her explanation had gotten Sam and Dean riled up; they did not like the suggestion that there was a beast inside their sister.

To squash the dissent, John turned the discussion to the hunt. He handed out the bullets, and it was fortunate that Jim had his own, otherwise there wouldn't have been enough to go around. It was decided that one of the men would stay inside the house to protect Missouri and keep Emily secure, and Sam quickly volunteered for the job. The other men would pair up, Jim with Bobby, Dean with John, and they'd flank the house and wait for the werewolf.

Emily came to, only to find herself shackled up in the panic room. The silver shackles hurt, but of greater concern to her was how she had ended up here. The last she remembered was coming home and going in search of Bobby. She looked around the room. It was nearly bare. The cot John had used had been removed, so had the weapons, her guitar, anything sharp, and anything not secured to the floor or wall. This was no longer a panic room. It was, for all intents and purposes, a prison cell. Her heart thudded in her chest as the implications of her position set in. She must have fugued out and done something horrible. "Oh God, please let me not have killed someone!" she cried in horror. She sat on the floor, drew her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms round her legs. She rocked herself gently. "I am Emily Avis Raines … Winchester!" she whispered, needing to reassure herself that she was all there. She repeated the words, because even if it was just her voice, the sound was comforting. Soon however, the words had become a mantra to keep her sane.

"Right, we'd better get into position!" John spoke out at 1 a.m. Everyone except him and Sam had dozed off in the interim.

Sam shook his brother awake. "It's time."

Dean was instantly awake. It never failed to amaze Sam how quickly Dean awoke for a hunt, and yet was a nightmare to get up otherwise.

They all readied themselves; stretches, bathroom breaks, a shot of whisky for Bobby, and a whispered prayer by Jim.

"Be careful," Sam whispered to Dean as he was slipping out the door behind the other men.

"Yeah. You too. Keep her safe."

"Will do."

Sam and Missouri locked all the doors. Sam thought it was absurd; after all, a werewolf didn't have opposable thumbs and wouldn't be able to open doors, even unlocked ones. They were headed downstairs when Missouri decided she needed to get something from her room. Sam offered to go with her, but she assured him she'd be fine and wouldn't be long anyway. He continued to the panic room. The silence hit him first. There were no snarls, no rattling of chains, and his heart dove into his stomach.

"Rae?" he called as he raced to the door and pushed open the viewing slot.

"Sam?" Emily's voice was relieved. She picked herself off the floor and run to the door, the chain having enough give for her to get a foot away. She looked into her brother's hazel eyes, that were almost brown from the swirling emotion.

"You're okay?" he breathed in disbelief.

"I'm fine. What happened? Why am I in here?"

"You flipped out. We had no choice." he sounded apologetic.

Emily shrugged off his unnecessary remorse. "Did I hurt anyone?" was the more pressing concern.

"No," he answered after a pause.

She caught that pause and read it effectively. "You're lying! Was it you? Did I hurt you?"

"No!" he repeated adamantly then reconsidered when he saw the scepticism in her eyes. "Well, you shoved me, but I'm okay."

"I'm sorry."

"I told you, I'm okay. Really."

"What about Dean?"

"He's fine as well."

"Where is he, then?" she asked suspiciously.

"He's with dad. The hunt's today, remember?"

"Oh!" That was it! She must have turned into a werewolf. Maybe that was why she didn't remember anything. But she didn't have fur or claws, and okay, maybe those had retracted after the change, but her clothes were intact. If she'd transformed into a beast, surely her clothes would have been ripped. Besides, Sam had said she'd flipped out; he'd not said anything about a transformation. Still, she needed to be sure. "I didn't change into a … an animal, did I?"

"No, you didn't!"

"Then what happened?" it was frustrating not knowing.

"Well, Missouri thinks maybe Pastor Jim's presence rubbed you wrong."

"Pastor Jim's here?"

"You don't remember?"

"No! Did I hurt him?"

"No. He probably would have hurt you." Sam's voice caught when he remembered the sight of the gun pointed at his sister. At that distance, Jim wouldn't have missed. "He would have killed you," he corrected.

"Maybe you should have let him!"

"What? Have you gone completely nuts?"

"Then you or Dean wouldn't have to!" Emily continued like Sam hadn't spoken.

"Where is this coming from? You were the one preaching positivity, just a few hours ago!"

"Well, I wasn't in chains, then, was I? And I hadn't tried to kill my brother!" there was an angry edge to her voice, though the sadness and worry seeped through.

Sam didn't know what to say to that and for a while there was silence. Emily wandered away and sat on the fixed bed, her head bowed. Sam desperately cast around for something to say which was unlike him, because he didn't usually hate silences like Dean did, but this silence was uncomfortable, and made him think morbid thoughts.

"Are you hungry?" he finally asked even as he internally chided himself for the feeble attempt.

Emily looked over to the door and glared, even though she couldn't see Sam from the angle she was. "No!"

"Yeah right! That's a lie!" Sam declared. "You're always hungry! You're like Dean!"

"No I'm not!" Emily huffed softly, a smile ghosting over her lips, and just like that the melancholy was gone.

Sam slumped against the door in relief. He'd taken his sister's mind off her predicament, at least for the moment, and he'd managed to get out of his head for a while. Yeah for him.

By the time Missouri came downstairs, Sam was telling an improbable, highly embellished story from his and Dean's childhood, and Emily was laughing and snorting in amused disbelief.

For once, Dean would have given anything to be partnered with Bobby or pastor Jim, instead of his father. Even though John said nothing, Dean could feel the disappointment and censure roiling off his father. Dean knew he deserved the blame. John had asked that he return his siblings to the yard before sundown, and he'd failed to do so. Subsequently, Emily had snapped and Sam had gotten hurt, even though not seriously. It was all Dean's fault, so yes, he deserved John's disappointment. He only wished his father would chew him out already, instead of letting him stew in silence. It was killing him.

At the other side of the house there was at least a conversation going on, albeit an uncomfortable one.

"Would you really have done it? Pulled the trigger?" Bobby asked.

Jim contemplated the question before answering. "I don't know. Yeah. Maybe."

"She asked me to kill her this morning."

"And?" Jim prompted after a pregnant silence.

"What? What do you mean and?" Bobby snapped.

"I'll take that to mean you said no." Jim laughed, unfazed by Bobby's ire.

"Good to know you've still got a modicum of sense!" Bobby grumbled.

Jim roared with laughter, forgetting for a moment that they were on a hunt.

"Laugh it up, chuckles!" Bobby muttered. "You do realise John would have killed you," he added after a beat, the tone of his voice conveying that he thought Jim was an idiot.

"At least he'd be able to live with himself." Jim said softly.

Bobby was silent as he realised just how selfless Jim really was. He was willing to do for the Winchesters and Bobby what they couldn't do themselves, and what they'd obviously hate him for doing — kill Emily if she transformed.


	27. Chapter 26

As the hunters were readying themselves for the hunt, Victoria was driving to the cemetery she had visited earlier. The moon called to her and she couldn't wait. For the first time in almost twenty years she was going to be out alone on a full moon night. Usually she had her sons with her, as they with their better control over their instincts kept her in check. The cemetery would likely be empty, as people, even the ones who swore they weren't superstitious, tended to steer clear of cemeteries during full moon nights. She was therefore shocked when she smelt what was definitely a run of the mill human being walking through the graves.

Wyatt Grady, incompetent husband and deadbeat father only left the bar when he run out of money. Today was no different, and as was his usual routine, he cut through the cemetery on his way home. When he came across the woman, he couldn't believe his luck. Though years older than him, and with a certain hardness about her, she was well kept with a knockout body. She smirked at him and began to undress, starting with her shoes. He grinned salaciously as he watched the free strip show, ignoring the fact that they were in a graveyard. She was down to her undergarments when the full moon finally made its appearance. She yowled and he took a step back, more in surprise than anything else. Then things began to get weird, as she fell to her knees and began to go through something he would never be able to eloquently describe. The bra and underwear tore off her body, and there were terrible sounds of breaking bones and pain filled cries and growls. Her body became twisted and misshapen, but seemed to be healing, only it was healing all wrong. He stood transfixed, unable to run, even though the survivalist part of his brain was yelling at him to save himself before it was too late. Suddenly, an impossibly huge, but strangely beautiful wolf stood where the woman had been a few moments earlier. "Too late!" his brain mocked him. Finally he came to his senses. His voice was a chocked horrified croak as he begged for his life. He swore the wolf grinned and cocked its head. He took that to mean go, and he stumbled as he backed away, then he fled, not once looking back to check whether he was being pursued. When he got home, he woke his wife and told her he loved her, and he was sorry and he'd be a good husband and father henceforth. She wrinkled her nose and told him to go clean up and sleep it off. Of course he'd later convince himself that he'd been so drunk he'd been seeing things, but currently, his urine soaked trousers were testament to his complete terror.

In her wolf form, Victoria watched him run. His bowel loosening fear had amused her greatly, making her transformation almost bearable. She didn't go after him. He'd served his purpose, that of a distraction from her pain, besides, she had bigger fish to fry. It was widely thought that a transformed werewolf was mindless but that wasn't true. The wolf was remorseless and governed more by instinct than anything else, but it still retained its intelligence and was disciplined enough to focus on a target. Victoria's target was the hunter, and his children and whoever stood between her and them. With a growl, she set off for Bobby's scrap yard. Seven statues stepped off their plinths and followed her, their disjointed lurching movements fascinating in their wrongness.

Back at the yard, as the moon came out, Emily fell off the fixed bed with a thud and writhed on the floor of the panic room. An inhuman sound, a cross between a pain filled howl and a distressed whimper was torn from her throat. Until that moment, Sam had never thought the cracking of bones could be so audible. The sound was horrifying, and the yelps and pants currently issuing from Emily's lips contributed nothing to his peace of mind, and neither did the smell of burning flesh from the contact with the silver chain.

"Rae?" he called, the word almost catching in his throat.

His voice cut through the fog of pain Emily was in and gave her something to latch on that wasn't agony.

"I won't hunt them! I won't hurt them! I am Emily Avis Raines Winchester. I'm not a monster. I won't hurt them. I can beat this. I am strong!" She spoke through gritted teeth, pausing long and panting between words, some of which came out slurred.

"What?" Sam frowned and turned to Missouri, "What's she doing?"

"She's fighting the change!" Missouri was awed. The girl was really giving it her all.

And indeed the sound of cracking bones stopped.

The pain as the bones re-knitted themselves was by no means less than when they'd been breaking, but Emily had no choice but to take it as the presence of the moon meant her body couldn't even enjoy the welcome respite of passing out. She was caught in an awful limbo of pain.

"Rae?" Sam called again.

"I'm okay," she finally panted from the floor where she had curled into a tight spasming comma.

Evidently she spoke too soon, as once again her body tried to transform; the effect of the moon too strong. She was unwillingly and painfully snapped out of the position she'd folded herself into, and involuntary cries of pain tore past her lips. Again she fought, using her new mantra as a talisman.

Sam felt helpless watching his sister suffer and being unable to help her; there was no monster to slay, no shadows to chase.

"You can help," Missouri spoke startling him badly, as he'd been so focused on Emily.

"How?"

"Talk to her. Maybe that will tether her."

Sam tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He wasn't usually negative, he left that to his cynical father and brother, but today, he couldn't find any merit in Missouri's suggestion. His sister was possibly turning into a supernatural creature, and Missouri wanted him to have story time? "What was it with women and thinking talking solved everything?" he thought uncharitably.

"Talk? About what?"

"I don't know! Reminisce about stuff. What did you do when you went off yesterday?" Missouri continued, trying to highlight for him the concept, unaware that he was completely skeptical about the suggestion.

Sam frowned in annoyance. This was stupid. "We went fishing," he answered shortly.

Emily managed a snort of disagreement.

"Fine, we didn't fish but we could have if we'd wanted."

"Well, you taught me how to stone skip, so there was that!" Emily smiled weakly at the memory.

"Tried to teach! You didn't learn much!"

Emily laughed but it came out as more of a gasp. "Can I blame the teachers?"

"Blame just one of the teachers. I was pretty awesome!"

"Pretty awesome? You've been hanging around Dean too long!"

"That is so not a good thing!" Sam groaned.

"It's not a bad thing either! He's batman after all!" Emily smiled.

"We're talking about the same brother, right? The one who ate pepper spray?"

Again Emily gasped a laugh. "In all fairness he thought it was breath freshener!"

Sam snickered. "Serves him right. He should have asked!"

In the first days they'd hunted as a trio, they'd stopped at a diner, and Dean, as he was wont to, had gotten the phone number and then a date with one of the waitresses. Later that evening as he'd dashed to leave for the date, he'd spotted the little spray can on Emily's bed, and thought why not; good breath was always a plus! Needless to say, he'd not made it for the date. And after making sure he wasn't going to suffer lasting damage from the chemical, Sam and Emily had fallen about laughing.

"You've got guns and knives, what the hell do you need pepper spray for?" Dean had raged when he'd finally recovered.

"Bears?" Emily had answered torn between defensiveness and sass. She and Sam had suffered another bout of laughter. It hadn't improved Dean's mood at all.

"I swear, I'd never heard Dean willingly ask for milk!" Sam now chuckled.

"His body got two shocks that day. Pepper spray and milk!"

Despite his misgivings, it was working! Missouri's suggestion was working. Sam had thought it was a load of crap, like meditation or talking to a shrink or some new age solution. Well, starting today, he was never going to turn his nose down on alternative solutions. Whatever worked, worked. He grinned at his sister. "Three shocks if you count the missed date!"

Emily howled, but this time it was in laughter, the pain temporarily banished by the banter.

Outside, Dean glanced at his watch and growled in impatience. The moon had been up almost twenty minutes. Where was the bitch anyway?

"You got somewhere you need to be?" John snapped at him.

"No! No sir!" he was quick to answer. But he had somewhere he wanted to be, and that was the panic room with his siblings, and not out here with a father who probably wanted to smack him.

A couple of minutes later, Movement near the edge of property caught John's eye. "Look alive, I think we've got company!"

Dean bit back a mouthy remark. John usually had a snarky sense of humour, but not today, and antagonising him when he was armed, and already pissed off was not wise.

The two men readied their guns. Seconds later, their jaws dropped when they saw the animated statues breach the cover of the woods. The two of them weren't the only affected ones.

"Would you look at that!" The awe in Pastor Jim's voice was hard to miss.

All the statues were beautiful, but the largest one, the one that had really captivated him was a truly magnificent work of art. The marble statue of St. Michael clad in the armour of God and wielding the sword of truth and righteousness, was quite possibly seven feet tall with a six foot wing span.

"I wouldn't recommend genuflecting!" Bobby drawled, pretending to be unimpressed by the incredible workmanship that had gone into the sculpture. If he was to hazard a guess, he'd say the thing weighed about five hundred pounds. It could certainly crush a person to death.

"I'm not catholic!" Jim retorted.

"Damn, didn't see this coming!" Dean holstered the gun with the silver bullets and retrieved the one with consecrated iron rounds. He had no idea what these sculpture things were, and what weapons to use against them, but silver certainly wasn't it, since silver only worked on monsters that had beating hearts. He wished Sam and Emily were by his side. The nerd squad would probably have been quite helpful in the situation.

"This is a complication we don't need!" John growled in irritation.

Since Dean had switched weapons, John decided to keep his original one, just in case the wolf showed up. "Shoot!" he commanded his son.

Dean bit back an angry retort. While he didn't mind taking orders, he'd always hated being told what to do when it was obvious he knew what to do and was going to do it. It was redundant and insulting!

He took aim and fired. His five well placed shots didn't even chip the statue, and it wasn't even the largest one.

All four hunters sighed. Of course it was never going to be that easy.

"Clearly we need a new plan!" John said.

"You think?" Dean snarked, unable to keep himself in check any longer.

Fortunately John was in hunt mode, and didn't have time to berate his son. "Go get your brother," he said instead, his eyes on the statues, his brain working out how long it would take them to reach the house given the distance and their speed.

"What?" Dean exploded in surprise.

"Get Sammy." John repeated, distracted by his calculations.

Dean glared at his father. So maybe the man was angry at him, but that was no reason to treat him like a moron! Of course he'd heard him. He just didn't understand why they were pulling Sam from his assigned protection duty. "But what about …" he began.

"Emily will be fine. She's bound with silver in a room not many things can get into without serious damage to themselves. We have rampaging statues and there's still a revenge bent werewolf out there. We need all hands on deck."

Dean knew that. Of all of them, Emily was probably the safest, at least from physical harm, but she wasn't the one Sam was protecting. "I was going to ask about Missouri actually!"

"As long as she stays out of the panic room, she'll be fine too."

There was truth to that too, but still, Dean couldn't help looking at his father with a jaundiced eye.

"That's an order, Dean!" John bellowed.

"Yes, sir!" Dean acquiesced and turned for the house.

John tracked him and made sure he had gotten into the house before racing over to the other two men. "So what are they?" he directed his question at Bobby.

"Animated sculptures?" Bobby shrugged. The possible answers were endless, and he didn't have time to start narrowing the list down. "As we all saw, consecrated iron didn't work, we know silver bullets only stop beating hearts not marble ones, and fire isn't likely to be effective. I suggest we try …"

"Knocking them down." John finished. " Their joints don't seem particularly flexible, so maybe they won't be able to get back up."

"They might even break." Jim added. Then seeing the looks the other men were giving him, he appended, "We can only hope!"

"Well, now we need to figure out how exactly we are going to go about dropping those things." John butted in.

"Either one of you any good at lassoing?" Bobby asked.

"Never needed that particular skill set before!" Jim answered.

"Either one of us look like a cowboy to you?" John spoke at the same time.

"Forget I asked."

There was a momentarily pause as the men thought frantically.

"We can use our trucks." John spoke first.

"Have you completely lost it? I'm not crashing a truck that has no airbags or functioning seat belts into things that for all I know are indestructible!" Bobby objected vehemently.

"Don't bite my head off! Despite what you think, I'm not in a hurry to die!" John snapped. "Now if you'd let me finish."

Bobby and Jim nodded.

"I was thinking that if we string a rope between our trucks, and flank those things, we can trip them up." It was the best plan he could come up with in a pinch.

"Like a mobile trip wire! That's harebrained enough to work!" Bobby had learnt a long time ago that simple plans with a touch of crazy sometimes worked better than the complicated logical plans.

"Well then, we'd better get a move on. Those things won't win any races, but they're still getting closer." Jim pointed out.

"Right, Bobby and I will go look for rope, you go get the keys. The ones to Nimbus …"

"Nimbus?"

"My truck, long story!" a smile ghosted across John's lips as he remembered where the truck's name had come from. "The keys are on a nightstand in the boys' room and …"

"Mine are on the table in the study." Bobby added.

Jim swept into the house with urgency and by the time he got outside, the other men had already set the absurd plan in motion by connecting a tow strap to the front tow hooks of both trucks. Still awed at the absurdity of the plan, Jim shook his head and smiled wryly before handing over the keys.

Since all three men agreed that having a passenger in either car was not only redundant, but also a total waste of a good soldier, Jim returned to his earlier position from where he would keep an eye on John and Bobby and provide backup if necessary. With his back flush against the wall of the house, his left flank protected by an outbuilding and the fact that he didn't have a blindside, there was no way the wolf would be able to launch a surprise attack on him. He couldn't remember the last time he had hunted, and he was surprised that the thrill was still present. He knew Bobby and John felt the same way because one gave a thumbs up and the other grinned widely, before they got into their trucks and went at the statues in what could only be called an improvised two truck pincer movement.

In the meantime, Dean had gone into the house, and started bellowing when he was still at the top of the stairs. Hey, Sammy, we need you up here. We're being attacked by angels!"

"What?" Sam wasn't sure he'd heard his brother right.

"Freaking marble angels!" Dean appeared in Sam's periphery sight.

"What about Rae and Missouri?" Sam hissed.

Dean wasn't about to throw his dad under the bus, especially when the relationship between John and Sam was already strained. So he took responsibility for the decision. "Well, if we contain the situation out there, they'll be ok down here, and we can't contain it without you."

"Fine," Sam gave in grudgingly. "Let's go, and get it over with quickly so I can get back here."

"Give me a second!" Even though there wasn't really time to spare, what with the ambushing statues outside, and the fact that his father had sent him with one mission, Dean couldn't leave without at least acknowledging his sister. He came over to the slot and peered in. Emily was still curled up protectively, but it was the agony in her eyes that shook him most. His heart stuttered, but he forced a smile, "Hey brat, you hanging in there?"

"Yeah, but I'd much rather be out there battling marble angels, thank you very much!" Emily's smile though wan was genuine. She hadn't doubted Sam when he'd said Dean was fine, but at least she now had physical proof.

"It's actually not as cool as it sounds." Dean tried to console her.

She harrumphed in grumpy disbelief. "I bet it beats being in here."

"Probably … but you're not going to be in there much longer. So just chill. Unfortunately, you're going to have to put your dress up tea party on hold cos I'm borrowing Samantha!"

Emily smiled, Sam muttered screw you, and Missouri told him off.

The brothers turned to leave and Sam hesitated temporarily.

"Go, I've got her." Missouri whispered.

"Be careful." Emily said at the same time.

Only when they were upstairs did Dean ask. "How's she doing really?"

"I can't even begin to imagine the pain she's in. Her bones keep trying to break and reform, the silver's obviously burning her, and I bet anything her skin is hyper sensitive because fur is trying to burst through."

"Fucking hell!" Dean swore.

"I know," Sam spoke softly. "And there's really nothing I could do except try to distract her."

Dean heard the haunted quality in his brother's voice. "You did good, Sammy. Don't sweat it."

"Good is not enough!" Sam sighed. "So about these angels?" he added quickly, not wanting to hear another placation from Dean because that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be useful.

"Just wait and see."

They exited the house in time to see John and Bobby drive towards the statues. Sam was just as awed at the animated sculptures as everyone else had been, but he swiftly schooled his face back into an impassive hunter mask.

"I can see where you get your brand of madness from!" he spoke.

"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

Sam looked sideways at his brother and couldn't resist smiling. "That means I'd bet anything that it was dad who came up with that mental plan!" he said pointing at the two connected trucks that were driving headlong at the statues.

Dean grinned. Yeah, it was the kind of mad ingenuity he was capable of.

"So, you shot those things with …" Sam turned businesslike.

"Consecrated iron. Didn't even a chip!"

Sam scrunched his forehead for a moment, "Any sign of the wolf?"

"No!" Dean answered, just then realising now how weird that was.

"I could be wrong, but I think those are golems," Sam surmised a couple of seconds later.

"Golems? Aren't those supposed to be made out of mud or rotten body parts like Frankenstein?"

"Technically, Frankenstein was the doctor who made the golem!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, that is so not the point!"

"I know they don't look like your standard golem. Maybe she improvised!"

"Great! Special order monsters!" Dean groused. "How're we supposed to kill them?"

"We don't."

"What?"

"We kill her."

"Well, she's not here."

"She can't be far. Trust me."

"So how do we draw her out?"

"We give her what she wants."

"Us."

"You got it."

"You want us to go into the woods?" Dean asked resignedly.

"Yep!" Sam chirped.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this!" Dean snapped and led the way. "And you'd better not get yourself killed. Or I'll kick your ass."

"You too little Red!" Sam smirked. Payback was sweet.

"Screw you!" Dean grumbled.

Sam snuffled a laugh.

John's plan worked, but only briefly. The first three statues, the smallest and fastest of the seven, went down easily, and even though they remained unscathed, they couldn't get back up again. Watching them struggle was bizarre. Then the plan hit a literal snag when it came to the St. Michael statue. The tow strap had looped the huge sculpture's feet well enough, but before the statue could be felled, it had reacted by bringing up its sword. If the sword had been sharp, it would have cut through the rope and even though that would have foiled the hunters' plan, it would have been a much better outcome for them. Unfortunately, it was marble and definitely not sharp, and it snagged onto the tow strap and as marble St. Michael continued raising his sword higher, the two trucks were suddenly hitched upwards, tethered to the strap. The other three statues lurched to the sides of both trucks and started to pummel them.

As soon as the front tyres of the trucks lost contact with the ground, Pastor Jim was up and racing towards the scene. He couldn't believe he was racing headlong into havoc with nothing but a gun that wouldn't hurt the statues, a knife, and a half formed plan.

John whose truck was being assailed by only one statue had managed to get out through the other door, and roll out of the way, but Bobby wasn't as lucky since both doors were blocked. Broken glass poured down on him and he closed his eyes and shielded his head. Twisted metal cut into his leg and he bit back a cry and wrenched both legs up onto the seat before they got trapped under the forward block. He knew if the truck was pummelled much longer it was going to become a twisted wreck and freeing him would probably require specialised equipment he didn't have. He tried kicking the passenger door from the inside, but it wouldn't budge.

When Jim got to the scene, marble St. Michael was swinging the tow strap back and forth, probably intending to throw the trucks like a bolus. That would most likely be fatal for Bobby. Since the strap had been hitched so high, Jim could only reach the very end of the strap, near John's truck, on the side away from the statue. Even then, he had to stand on tip toe to cut through the material.

Meanwhile, John had had the presence of mind to roll to the back of his truck and slide the hidden panel open. Because the truck was hitched upwards, the contents of his truck weapons cache fell onto the ground. As he looked for a weapon that would be useful in the situation, he kept a wary eye on the statue that was still punishing his truck having not realised it was empty. He gave Jim a thumbs up. The statue hadn't noticed him, though the St. Michael one had, and was trying to hitch the strap even higher. John could imagine the strain in Jim's arms, as he sawed away at the strap.

The strap gave way suddenly and both trucks came down. Because the point of breakage wasn't centred, Bobby's truck creaked and teetered then miraculously landed on its wheels, but John's truck fell onto its side. Jim had to leap out of the way to avoid getting crushed though the truck still glanced off his shoulder. A shard of metal flew at John's forehead slicing it deeply. Fortunately, the truck also managed to flip the statue that had been destroying it and now there were only three statues to contend with. They came at John and Jim having decided Bobby wasn't a threat anymore.

With a dislocated shoulder, Jim's right arm was useless, and so were his knife and gun. John was seeing triple and every so often he had to reach up and wipe away the blood flowing from the cut above his eye, lest he be blinded by it. All he had was a whip, an insubstantial weapon against many of the monsters he'd come upon, but one that would yet prove useful against the ones he now faced, as it could be used to trip the statues. If Dean were here, he'd probably be snickering and wisecracking about Indiana Jones.

The thought made John smile, but the smile quickly slipped from his face when he realised he hadn't seen hide nor hair of either one of his sons. "Where the hell were they?" he seethed. Probably still down in the panic room comforting their sister. Even though it was an upstanding gesture, he was going to rip them both new ones! Right now they were needed up here as hunters, not down there babysitting.


	28. Chapter 27

In the woods, away from their father and the chaos of the yard, Sam and Dean walked side by side. Silent and deadly, they were as much predators as what they were hunting. They knew the moment the wolf began tracking them, and immediately started a whispered inane conversation.

"What does this remind you of?" Dean whispered.

"What? This leisurely walk in the woods looking for something that might kill us? I don't know, The Blair Witch Project movie maybe?" Sam whispered back.

"Trust you to go with the movie where nothing happens! I was thinking along the lines of Silver Bullet."

"So does that make you the paraplegic or the girl?" Sam couldn't resist smiling.

"Okay, Dog Soldiers then." Dean amended.

"Yeah that was enjoyable." Sam agreed reluctantly. "But, for your information, a lot happened in The Blair Witch Project. You just didn't get it!"

Dean rolled his eyes. Trust Sam to find some kind of life lesson in a horror movie. "They didn't even show what it was!"

"That was the point!"

"Wait! So the point of the movie was to have them running around, screaming like idiots? Well, that was pointless!"

Suddenly they dived, each to an opposite side. They rolled, getting to their feet with quick efficiency, guns raised. The wolf landed where they'd been standing moments earlier. With her quarry suddenly gone, she stumbled slightly, but recovered fast, the quick survival instincts of her species evident. She turned and faced her former prey, now likely to be her executioners. She'd been overconfident and she knew she was going to pay for it.

She'd thought she had them; that they were completely unaware of her presence. She'd believed she'd get at least one of them. She'd been wrong. She'd underestimated their prowess. She could see now how her sons hadn't stood a chance. The four of them may have been innately stronger and faster, but they'd lacked the training these two boys had. They hadn't had the discipline to work cohesively or the focus of purpose that would have made them formidable. The hunter's sons were hunters too. She should have known. Now she was going to die without getting her revenge.

Still, she wasn't going to meet her end while cowering. She made what she knew was her final leap. Two silver bullets slammed into her, throwing her back. Her howl rent the air.

Guns still at the ready, the brothers cautiously crept to where she had fallen. There was no doubt she was dying. She'd transformed back into a woman, her body twisted and bloody.

Sam's eyes softened in compassion. This was why he hated hunting werewolves; they died human. This woman who lay dying at their feet and by their hand had sent her sons after them, had targeted them herself and was the reason their sister might need killing, but in this moment, she was a vulnerable person, gurgling her last breaths. He tucked away his gun and knelt down beside the woman and took her hand in his. He didn't say anything; there was nothing he could say that would be right. He felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't been able to do this for the woman's sons, but they'd died almost instantly, and his mind had been completely overtaken with concern for Dean and Emily.

As a precaution, Dean kept his gun trained on the woman. She was dying, and no way would she be able to transform, but he took no chances when it came to his siblings. He watched his brother, as usual moved by the compassion Sam possessed. Despite everything that had happened to them, everything they'd seen and done, his little brother's innate goodness was as yet uncorrupted by the darkness of the world they inhabited.

The woman's head rolled slowly towards Sam. She spoke, blood coating her mouth, a testament to the damage the silver bullets had done. "There'll be others. Maybe not exactly like me, but I can assure you, there will be. Sins of the father …"

Sam blinked in the sudden silence. "She's gone!" he finally said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but the sadness was audible.

Dean put away his gun and crouched down besides his brother. He tugged the woman's hand out of Sam's and put it on her chest. Then he gathered his brother in a hug. The hug was as much for himself as it was for Sam, though he'd never admit it.

Sam didn't resist. He leaned into Dean and for a sweet minute, the reality of the situation melted away.

"We'd better get going," Dean ended the moment brusquely.

Sam offered to carry the woman, but Dean wouldn't hear of it. He knew that the nightmares Sam was going to have from having shot the woman were going to be bad enough; carrying her body would wreck total havoc on his psyche.

After the dying howls of the wolf had sounded, the animated statues had moved a few more inches before stopping completely. For a stunned moment, Jim and John had stood just as still as the statues. They didn't want to let down their guards prematurely. When it became clear that the statues weren't going to animate again, the two men sighed in relief, their bodies relaxing.

"It's over! I don't know how, but it's over!" Jim said.

John could hazard a guess, but he didn't voice it. "We need to get Bobby out of there." He walked over to the ruined truck.

Pastor Jim shot one more glance at the still statues before walking over to John's side. "Clearly, we're not going to get any help from him." Bobby had passed out, probably from blood loss.

"You're not going to be much help either, not with that shoulder of yours." John pointed out.

"I'm sure you can reduce it."

"Yeah, but I'd rather not. I'm seeing two of you right now," he admitted. At least the wound above his eye had stopped bleeding. "Bobby has got metal cutters in there," he continued, pointing at the tool shed, "see if you can find them. I'm sure he's going to kill us for cutting up his truck, but it's the only way we're going to get him out."

In the pastor's absence, John walked around the wreck trying to figure out the best point of retrieval. Movement to his right caught his eye. He whirled round, his gun raising with the movement.

"It's us!" Dean stepped out of the shadow carrying the dead woman. Sam was right behind his brother.

"Where the hell have you two been? Is that …" John began.

"The werewolf? Yes," Dean answered, putting down the dead woman, as reverently as the situation and the surroundings could allow. The last thing he needed was a rambling lecture from Sam about respect.

"What? I told you to get your brother and get back here, not go after the wolf yourselves!" John bit out. Contrary to his words and behaviour, he was proud of his sons. They'd killed the wolf and contingently stopped the statues. But they'd gone on a mission he had not sanctioned. They'd gone after a wolf that had been specifically targeting them. They'd gone without him! What if she'd had reinforcements? What if she'd had another back up plan aside from the statues? He'd have lost them for sure. His concern and relief unfortunately presented as anger.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd not exactly expected praise, but at the very least, their father should have acknowledged their achievement. They'd gone after the wolf and taken it down without any injury to themselves. Their actions had also stopped the statues that would have otherwise injured John, Jim and Bobby even more grievously than they already were. Their father should be proud. Instead he was tearing into Dean, and unbelievably, Dean was just standing there taking it, like he deserved it.

"Dad, we got the wolf, and stopped the golems!" Sam exclaimed.

"That's not the point ! I gave him an order and he failed to follow it, just like he failed to bring Emily back before sundown like I'd told him. Look what happened with her!"

"That probably would have still happened!" Sam defended his brother. "Besides, I suggested we go after the wolf."

"I don't blame you, Sammy! Dean's the eldest and he should know better!"

That statement right there encapsulated everything Sam hated about his father. John treated him like a child. He never really listened to him or gave him credit for anything. He also never held him accountable for his actions or behaviour, choosing instead to blame everything on Dean.

"First off dad, it's Sam not Sammy. Second, I'm not a child and I take responsibility for my actions. And third, Dean came with me not because I forced him to, but because it was the right call. Unlike you, he treats me and Emily like functioning adults and hunting equals. He listens to our ideas, and considers our suggestions if they are any good. He explains himself, his decisions aren't shrouded in mystery and secrecy. And when a hunt ends with the monster destroyed, and no further fatalities, he sure as hell doesn't gripe about it. But not you! All you care about is that we follow your orders. Everything else is secondary to you! You're a self serv …"

"Sam, enough!" Dean interrupted his brother's tirade with a sharp rap. He glanced at John and seeing the thunder there, decided that separating the two, even if only for a short time, was the best way to go. "Go get spades and find lighter fluid, and matches, so we can burn and bury this bitch and be done with this hunt."

Sam winced at Dean's crude words.

"We still have to get Bobby out." John pointed at the truck.

"What?" Dean bent to look inside the truck. "Get the metal cutters too," he instructed Sam.

"Jim's already on it."

Dean turned to Sam, who was standing there looking like he would like to smash John into the ground. "Haul ass, Sammy, would you!"

Sam gnashed his teeth, but turned and left.

Once he was out of earshot, Dean turned to his father, "I'm sorry," he began, but he wasn't sorry about the decision to go after the wolf. He and Sam had truly made the right call. He was only sorry that once again his father and brother had had a falling out. Besides, if he didn't extend the olive branch, neither Sam nor John would. They were both too stubborn. "What Sam said was out of line," he continued. Though not completely untrue, he thought.

John went over to look at the dead woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her. Such was the reality of a hunter. Enemies born of blood, full of vengeance and having long memories.

"Still, dad, we've been hunting alone for a while now, and we're quite capable of taking down a solo werewolf. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, we can handle ourselves."

"I would believe that if your sister wasn't right now chained in the panic room!"

For a moment Dean forgot how to breathe. He had known the blame was coming, but it still hurt.

John saw the wounded look in Dean's eyes. He knew he was being unfair to his son. Getting hurt on the job was almost inevitable. Dean himself had been hurt numerous times when hunting with John and not once had he blamed his father, even when he should have.

"In Wyoming, you said you'd look out for her, for them both. You said you'd keep them safe."

And he had!

"And maybe you have before, but now, from what I can tell, you're doing a piss poor job. You've slacked in your duties and your decisions are reckless. And your sister is already paying the price, and Sammy will very likely be next!"

Dean was now standing completely still, flinching every so often, as though he was being physically struck. John knew he should stop talking, stop twisting the knife in his son's heart, but like Sam, he'd never been able to temper his tongue, and so the words flowed.

"So, this is what is going to happen. When I leave here for the next hunt, you, your brother and if she's cured, your sister, are coming with me, and staying with me until I'm completely sure I can trust you again!"

"Yes sir!" Dean said stiffly. When he'd originally set out looking for John, this had been his ultimate hope — that they'd hunt together again. He just hadn't expected it to be because his father didn't trust him.

Dean had acquiesced, but John couldn't resist the final hit, "I should have done this in Wyoming, when you said it was all of you or none. Then maybe all this wouldn't have happened!"

Dean looked at him with unreadable eyes. His hands clenched into fists.

"I expect you to inform your brother and sister about this. What you say to them is up to you."

"Yes sir," this time it was said flatly, emotionlessly. He'd tell Sam and Emily that John was trying to be a father to them as well as a hunter. Despite Sam's resistance and Emily's nonchalance, the two of them really wanted to believe in their father, and spend time with him. This would be the perfect opportunity. Dean would make this thing work, no matter how it had come to be. He would make it work, not for himself but for his siblings.

When Sam and Jim returned, they found John and Dean waiting in silence.

The twinkle in Dean's eyes was gone. Sam felt his heart constrict. He knew that in the short period that had passed, John had somehow crushed Dean's soul. Dean was fierce, and fearless, and incredibly mouthy, but not when it came to their father. It saddened Sam to see how much power John had over Dean, and how easily and often he abused it.

With Dean already upset, and Pastor Jim present, Sam didn't want to start another fight, He handed one spade to Dean and they began digging in silence. Every so often, John called them away from their task to help pull away metal from the ruined truck, and as a result, he freed Bobby before they finished with the grave.

The left leg of Bobby's jeans was red with blood, and his flannel shirt was sticky on the side. He'd lost a fair amount of blood, but the wounds didn't appear serious enough to warrant a hospital visit. His pupils when checked reacted differently, but unless he didn't wake up in a couple of hours, there wasn't cause for alarm.

"Sam, take Bobby back to the house and have Missouri take a look at him," John ordered.

"But …" Sam began.

"And while Missouri is seeing to Bobby, I want you to stay with Emily," John continued as if uninterrupted.

At the mention of their sister, Sam glanced at Dean. The only other person Sam would leave his brother's side for, was Emily, but she was safe in the panic room, and only with Dean's permission would Sam leave. Dean nodded.

"Yes sir," Sam said, the word sir falling out of his mouth like it physically hurt him. He hauled Bobby up in a fireman's carry.

"Jim, I think you should go with him. He can set your shoulder. Dean and I have got this."

Jim who had felt the undercurrents among the family members didn't argue. Besides, his shoulder was really killing him.

Missouri didn't need Sam to come and get her. His tumultuous thoughts and emotions were transmitting so loudly, she almost got a headache from them. She stepped into the study as Sam laid Bobby on the couch.

"Put him on the floor. I know it's uncomfortable, but it's flatter, and I can check him from both sides," she directed. Besides, it would be easier to clean after.

Sam picked Bobby up and placed him gently on the floor. Missouri fluttered over and began fussing over the unconscious man. Sam used the opportunity to set Pastor Jim's shoulder.

"How many times have you done that?" Jim was impressed by the efficiency with which Sam had worked.

"Too many times to count!" Sam sighed. "You might want to have a warm bath or I can get Rae's hot water bottle for you. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Later. I'll help Missouri with Bobby. Go on to your sister."

"I can help, go take that bath." Even though he really wanted to see Emily and make sure she was fine, he'd do his part to help.

Missouri came in from the kitchen from where she'd gone to get hot water and towels. "She needs you."

"What?"

"She's kept the animal at bay, but only barely. I wasn't much help to her. In your absence, the pain has been more unbearable."

"And now she's alone!" Sam flung the words accusingly and raced downstairs.

Emily was on the floor, her body a twisted wreck of limbs, her eyes closed and her breath coming in short shallow puffs.

"Mimi?"

She hadn't heard that particular name in forever. She opened her eyes, but didn't move. "Sam, you're okay!" Her words were pain filled gasps, but the relief was evident. "Where's Dean?"

"He's fine, he's fine. Not a scratch on him, or me, before you ask! He and dad are taking care of a small detail."

"And dad? John, is he ok? What about Bobby and the pastor?"

"Dad has a gash on his head, so I'm guessing he got hit at some point, but he's his usual charming self, so it's probably nothing. He's got a hard head anyway! Jim dislocated a shoulder, but it's been taken care of. Bobby is out. He got cut up, trapped in his truck and has lost quite a bit of blood, but he won't need to go to hospital. What about you? How're you? Missouri said it's been hard."

"Well, I'm furless, and pawless and if the floor wasn't so enticingly cool, I'd be standing on two legs not four, but I'm so ready for this to be over!" she said, the humour not taking away from the pain.

Dean and John dug in silence, dropped the body in the grave, doused it with lighter fluid and set it alight.

Dean watched it burn for a few minutes then turned to leave.

"It's not finished, where are you going?" John's voice was gravel.

"Dad, we can cover up the grave up tomorrow! It's not like this is a public place!"

"Fine," John conceded that, "but we stay until the body is completely destroyed."

"There's enough lighter fluid in there to burn five elephants, she isn't going to walk out of there!" Dean was indignant.

"We stay!"

Dean gritted his teeth.

The copious amounts of lighter fluid accelerated the process, but it still took forty minutes to destroy the body. Forty minutes of terse silence. When John decreed it was okay to leave, they collected the weapons that had fallen out of his truck and headed indoors.

Bobby had been stitched up and bandaged, and he'd thankfully roused enough not to be a complete burden on Jim during the journey up the stairs to his room. Jim had turned in too after a warm bath.

Missouri was still lingering downstairs, pretending to clear up when in actuality she was waiting for John and Dean. Jim had told her that Dean was fine, and John was mostly fine, but she knew how well the Winchesters hid their ills and pains, and she wanted to see for herself. Dean walked in first, his arms full of weapons. Based off the stiff way he carried himself, Missouri deduced that he was upset, but he was so guarded, so strongly closed off, that she couldn't really sense his emotions or thoughts, aside from his urgent need to see his sister. From John she got a faint sense of triumph tinged with guilt. She wondered what the man had done to his son now. She knew that because Dean didn't challenge his father the way Sam did, John tended to ride roughshod over him, not realising how much he hurt his eldest. Missouri sighed. Now wasn't the time to get into it with John, however much she wanted to.

"I've got this one. Go see your sister," she said to Dean. The look of naked relief and gratitude he gave her made her want to hug him. She knew he would never allow it, so she resisted the urge, turning instead to John. "Why am I not surprised that you tried to stop something with just your big head!"

That managed to get a chuckle out of Dean who was already moving away.

He found Sam and Emily reminiscing about a particularly tasty prank they'd played on him. He could tell Emily was really trying to fight, but she was beat.

"How is the geek squad doing?" he announced his arrival loudly, putting all thoughts of his father out of his head.

Both his siblings tried very hard to grin. It didn't take in either case.

He gave them props for trying. He sat down next to Sam, bumped shoulders with him, and did what he did best when he wasn't hunting; he supported his siblings. He teased, cajoled, told embellished stories of his solo hunts, told embarrassing stories about Sam, refuted Sam's stories about him, talked about his and Sam's teenage exploits, got Emily to tell a couple of her escapades which were quite tame by comparison, dissected movies and music and Macgyver. He talked, until his throat hurt, and he would willingly kill for water, and then he talked some more. Months later, he would wonder where he'd gotten the words, but he'd talked until Sam turned to him with a huge grin on his tired face.

"Dude, it's 5:47!"

The sun had been up two minutes already.

They scrambled up and burst through the steel doors.

Emily who was still sprawled on the floor swung her head to investigate the banging, saw her brothers coming at her and panicked. With the sudden adrenaline boost, she scrambled onto her haunches and away from them, yelling hysterically.

"Stay away! Please! Please stay away from me!" The last thing she wanted was to hurt her brothers.

"It's over! Hey, it's over!" they were just as frantic.

For a while their words didn't register. There were no corners to curl herself into in the circular room, and the chains she was attached to had only so much give. So when she couldn't go any farther, she stopped, drew her knees to her chest, hid her face against them and wrapped her arms around herself. Then she began rocking, repeating her mantra from earlier.

Sam held Dean back, "Wait!"

Four minutes later, when she had finally calmed herself down, they called out.

"Rae?"

"Please, I don't want to hurt you." She did not raise her face from her knees.

"It's over! Sunrise was six minutes ago." Dean answered.

She looked up, searched both their faces, then flung herself into their arms and promptly burst into tears.

The three way hug should have by all means been awkward; all three siblings were sweaty and clammy, their height differences meant each one's knees and elbows were poking another, and the shackles and chains around Emily were in the way. But the three couldn't have been happier than in that moment, and none of them would have let go for anything.

"Thank you!" the hiccoughed whisper floated from the tangle of limbs.

"For what?"

"For bringing me back from the brink, from the … the edge of darkness."

**~ the end ~**


End file.
